Savannah Heat (12 page)

This time the captain laughed heartily. “Don’t know as I’d agree with you on that, my friend. But I wish you the best o’ luck.”

Morgan tugged Silver toward the shore boat, helped her descend the rope ladder and settle herself aboard. All the way back to the ship, his fury mounted. One problem after another, all because of a stubborn young woman bent on self-destruction. No ploy was too deceitful, no means of escape too dangerous. She had little regard for the trouble she caused and even less regard for herself.

By the time he dragged her down to his cabin,
trying to ignore the whispered remarks of the sailors who looked at her with awe along the way, he was so angry he felt he might explode.

Silver said nothing. Just crossed the room and sank down on the edge of his bed. She didn’t even look at him.

Morgan’s temper grew hotter. “How many times do I have to say this before you understand? You, Salena, are going home.”

Silver just stared straight ahead as if he hadn’t spoken.

“There is nothing you can do to avoid it, nothing you can say, no one you can dupe into helping you.”

She didn’t even blink.

“You are without a doubt the most stubborn, the most willful, the most hotheaded, craziest damned female I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” When Silver seemed unmoved, Morgan grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “You little idiot! Don’t you understand, you could have been killed?”

Silver’s face flushed crimson. If she’d been wallowing in the depths of despair, now she erupted in white-hot fury. “I understand exactly the risk I took, Major. I know very well I could have been killed. What you don’t understand is that I’d rather be dead than go back there!”

“Of all the bloody—”

“You don’t know what it’s like there. You couldn’t even imagine.” Tears of anger and frustration stung her eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to be treated that way. You don’t know—and you’ll never have to find out!” She slammed her fists against his chest, first one and then the other. “I hate you for what you’re doing. I hate you!” Morgan caught her wrists,
but she tore herself free and started hitting him again.

“I hate you!” she shouted. “I hate you!” She was crying now in earnest, hot salty tears that soaked her cheeks and dripped onto the front of her borrowed shirt. Again and again she hit him, though her blows were ineffective, little more than a measure of her despair.

Morgan didn’t try to stop her. There was something so sad in her expression, something so defeated he just let her vent her fury until she sagged, spent and exhausted, into his arms.

“Please don’t make me go back there,” she pleaded. Her fingers clutched the front of his shirt; her face pressed into his chest. “Please.” Her body shook with the force of her tears, huge, deep sobs that tore at Morgan’s heart. He slipped an arm beneath her knees and carried her over to the bed, setting her in his lap and cradling her against him like a child.

She cried until his shirt was soaked clear through, and still she didn’t stop. What had brought her to this? Morgan wondered. What had caused her so much pain?

Finally her tears began to slow, and she started to hiccup softly. Morgan pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his breeches. “Here. Blow your nose.”

For once she didn’t argue.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” he gently prodded. “Maybe I could help you.”

If only I could
, she thought. It was her only hope now, and still she couldn’t say the words, she couldn’t stand the thought of facing him, once he knew the truth. She felt so tired all of a sudden, so bone-achingly weary. Morgan seemed to sense it.
Lifting her off his lap, he settled her onto his berth, then pulled the quilt up under her chin.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen,” he said.

When he turned to leave, she found herself clinging to his hand. Reluctantly she let it go. Morgan watched her for a moment from the doorway, an uncertain expression on his face. Then he stepped outside and closed the door, leaving her alone.

Alone and in turmoil.

How could she have lost control so completely? It was the tension, she knew, the fear, the life-and-death moment when she had clung to the yardarm suspended above the deck. It was the hope of being set free and then seeing those last hopes dashed.

It was Morgan Trask himself.

Just being near him seemed to stir her to frenzy. She had fought with him again, though they both knew her heart wasn’t in it. Still, he could have lashed out at her, could have beaten her if he had wanted, and no one would have said a word. Instead he had held her and comforted her as no one had since her mother died. It had only made her feel worse.

For the first time in years, Silver thought about her mother. Mary Hardwick-Jones had died giving birth to Silver’s sister, Elizabeth. Silver had only been five years old, and now she could barely remember her. Bethy’s memory had stayed with her always. She was the sweetest, kindest, gentlest little girl Silver had ever known.

Nothing like herself. Not willful, not stubborn, not headstrong. They didn’t even look alike, Bethy with her light brown hair and big blue eyes. She was even fairer than Silver, fair to the point of being frail.

How her father had loved Bethy. And so had Silver. Bethy was so sweet and pure and trusting. Silver had done her best to protect her. But in the end she had failed. Silver had been ten, Bethy only five when yellow fever struck the island.

The death toll rose highest in the slave quarters, where the conditions were overcrowded and medical attention was spare. Bethy and Silver both came down with it. But Silver had survived, and Bethy hadn’t. Her father never forgave her for being the one to live.

It seemed he meant to punish her forever.

Morgan stood alone at the wheel, surrounded by the darkness, the water, and his still-turbulent emotions. Above him the sky blazed with stars, brighter since there was little moon to dim them. Salena had avoided him since their confrontation in his cabin, and tomorrow they would reach Katonga. He’d be rid of her once and for all. His life could return to normal; the peaceful voyage he’d imagined would be a reality at last.

Something sleek and shiny broke the surface of the water. Whatever it was, it was big. Probably a dolphin or a shark. Morgan watched it till it disappeared from sight.

“Good evening, Major.” The sound of her voice, so soft and clear, stirred him from his reverie.

“Hello, Silver.”

“I came to thank you … for what you did the other day.”

“Bringing you back from the
Rival
?” He was teasing, but Silver seemed unwilling to take the bait.

“You were kind. It’s been a long time since anyone has shown me kindness.”

Morgan tried to see her eyes, but they were shadowed
in the darkness. “Am I to believe that William has treated you badly?”

Silver glanced out across the water. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“Fifteen years.”

“A man can change a great deal in fifteen years.”

“Some men.”

“But not my father,” she said flatly, reading his unspoken words.

Morgan didn’t answer. There was always that possibility, though he found it difficult to believe. A man like the earl was a man you could rely on, a man you could trust with your life. The years rarely changed a man like that.

“What is it you’re running from?” Morgan finally asked when Silver didn’t go on.

Say it
, she thought.
This is your chance
. What did it matter what Morgan Trask thought of her? Protecting herself was more important. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not come forth.

“Tell me,” Morgan gently urged.

Silver cleared her throat, determined to try again.
Say it
, she commanded, but found that she could not. “My father is … a hard man,” she said instead, knowing it was not enough. “He can be cruel, even sadistic. If I go back there, he’ll never let me leave again.”

“That’s ridiculous. Every man wants to see his daughter happy. William just wants what’s best for you. Someday you’ll meet some nice young man, marry, and have children. If that means leaving—”

“You’re wrong, Major. You don’t know him anymore. His punishments are often … severe. My father intends to keep me with him. If things were different, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, but as it is …” Silver felt a tightness in her throat. Her father’s
face rose before her. His hateful expression, the burning sting of his palm against her cheek, once, twice, the taste of blood in her mouth, the ache in her ribs as she sprawled in defeat on the floor. She thought of the welts on her flesh he had left with his razor strop—

“Excuse me,” she whispered, “I’m feeling a little bit chilly. I shouldn’t have come out without my shawl.”

“Silver—”

“Good evening, Major.”

She left before he could stop her. As he had never been able to do anyway. Could he be that wrong about William? He doubted it. More than likely Salena was up to her same old tricks. She wanted her way, and she’d do or say anything to get it. With Silver back home, William would certainly have his hands full.

At least Morgan’s debt would be paid—and high time at that.

Morgan searched the rise and fall of the sea, scanning the water for the huge gray fish he’d been watching before Silver arrived. She’d looked beautiful tonight, as always, even in her tattered tavern clothes. He could still see her face in the moonlight, the big brown eyes and clear complexion, the tiny cleft that dimpled her chin.

He had hoped that tonight would be different, that she would finally open up to him. But she had said little more than she had before. He fought down the memory of her haunted expression, the pallor of her skin when she’d spoken of her father, and ignored the unwelcome doubt that kept creeping into his mind.

It would all work out, he assured himself. He
would speak to William on the morrow, satisfy himself once and for all.

Tomorrow he’d make sure that the lie he’d seen in Silver’s eyes wasn’t a glimpse of the truth.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Silver stood at the rail, the wind whipping strands of her wild pale hair. Off to her right, Katonga lay like a bright green jewel atop the turquoise Caribbean Sea.

“It’s lovely.” Morgan stood beside her, tall and a little forbidding. She could feel his powerful presence almost as if he touched her, though he stood a few feet away. Today he wore his uniform, carefully pressed, gold epaulets marking the broad width of his shoulders.

“Looks can be deceiving,” she said, and Morgan arched a dark blond brow. He looked as handsome as always; the scar on his cheek now seemed such a part of him she hardly noticed. “For instance, see that water to the right of the channel?” She pointed a little right of starboard. “There’s a reef there on a rocky ledge that surrounds the southeast side of the island. On a day like today, when the sea is flat, it doesn’t even break the water. Most know of it, but it’s said that a pirate who once owned the island used to hang lanterns on the point to lure the unwary.
Their ships breached on the reef. The pirate killed the survivors and stole their cargo.”

“Yes,” Morgan said, “the practice is not unheard of.”

She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Then you can see, Major, a place that seems beautiful can sometimes be deadly.”

Morgan didn’t answer, just looked at her as if he were trying to read her thoughts.

The ship moved farther along the channel, well marked by buoys. Other reefs, easier to spot, could be seen near the opposite end of the island. Black sand beaches, remnants of Katonga’s volcanic beginnings, marked the shore, though today the island was relatively level and no more than four hundred feet at its peak. Palm trees swayed invitingly in the gentle afternoon breeze.

“Arrowroot and bananas are the island’s major source of income,” Silver said. “Heritage also grows coffee and tobacco.”

“William was always industrious, but I was surprised when I learned he intended to join the planter society.”

“Apparently he had some sort of rift with my grandfather. He never returned to England, even after Mother was gone and my grandfather died. I don’t think his estates there were worth much anyway.”

“Katonga certainly seems to be.” Morgan’s bright green eyes were fixed on the shore. On a gently sloping hill, the great plantation house watched the harbor like a sentinel, its stately white columns and wide, windswept galleries in contrast with the lush green landscape. Numerous outbuildings surrounded the main house, and tiny workers’ cabins dotted the open area behind.

“My father has been very successful, which should come as no surprise to you, Major. He’s the kind of man who lets nothing stand in his way.”

Morgan flicked her a glance and changed the subject. “We’re approaching our anchorage. If you’ll excuse me …” Turning, he headed toward the wheelhouse, where Wilson Demming stood ready to convey his orders to the crew.

Since the mainsail, the staysail, and the inner and outer jibs had already been furled, Morgan ordered the foresail lowered. The men hurried to do his bidding, pulling in the great white sheets of canvas in rhythm to a seaman’s ditty.