Authors: Kat Martin
“They were waitin’ all right,” Jeremy Flagg put in as he approached. “Trouble was we were waitin’, too.” Laughing, he pointed to the ship. “See those big five-pound cannon amidship?” Silver nodded. “Blew ’em clean outa the water, we did. Sailin’ downstream’s a whole lot easier than goin’ the other way.” He laughed again. “Ship plowed through ’em like corn through a goose—pardon me, ma’am.”
Jordy grinned, and Silver smiled for the first time in days. “It’s all right, Mr. Flagg.”
“It isn’t all right,” Morgan snapped, striding up just moments after Jacques and Teresa. “There are ladies in your presence, Mr. Flagg. From now on you’ll do well to remember that.”
“With your permission,
mon capitaine.
” Jacques said with a grin that ignored Morgan’s biting retort, “Teresa and I will be staying—at least for a while. She ’as agreed to become my wife.”
Morgan’s eyes flashed some unreadable emotion. He smiled, but the lines of his face seemed taut. “Congratulations.” His expression said he meant it. “You’re a very lucky man.”
“Oh, Jacques, that’s wonderful.” Silver hugged the big Frenchman, then turned and hugged Teresa. “We haven’t known each other long, but I know Jacques loves you. If you love him half as much as I think you do, you’ll both be very happy.”
“
Gracias.
” Teresa smiled warmly. “For you I wish this, too.”
“Thank you,” Silver said softly, feeling an ache in her heart.
“You’re stayin’ here?” Jordy said to Jacques with such a forlorn expression Silver’s despair changed to concern. “You ain’t—aren’t—comin’ back with us?”
“I am sorry, my young friend, but this is as far as I go—at least for now.” Jordy seemed stricken. “Do not be sad. It will not be forever.”
“But I thought maybe I could sail with you aboard the brigantine.”
“It’s all right, Jordy,” Silver soothed. “Jacques will be back one day and you still have me.”
“You’ll be leaving, too. Soon as we get to Katonga.”
“No, I won’t, Jordy. I’m not going back there.” But when she looked up at Morgan and saw his grim expression, she wasn’t so sure.
Dear God, not that, too
.
“I’ll have one of the men bring your sea chest ashore,” Morgan said to Jacques. “Take care of yourselves.” They said their final farewells, and the couple walked arm in arm toward the waiting Federalist troops.
“Well, Mr. Flagg,” Morgan snapped, turning away
from them, “what are you waiting for? I’m sure Miss Jones would like to get back aboard ship.”
And that was the way he had been for the past three days. Gruff and unreachable, standing at the helm for hours, rarely going belowdecks, pushing the men as if some demon rode his back. He looked beaten and exhausted and older than his years. Silver stayed away from him, finding it unbearable to see him, knowing the way he felt about her, sure he looked at her with eyes that recalled her half-naked body writhing beneath Alberto Hernández in what he must have believed was passion.
If only she had been fighting—and she would have been in just a moment more. Instead he had found her wedged beneath the man’s big body, her arms entwined around his neck.
He had found her that way once before, but then he had heard the words that made him believe in her. Buckland himself had declared her innocence. This time Morgan had seen exactly what he’d witnessed when he burst in on Charlotte Middleton—a woman betraying him in the arms of another man.
And even if Silver could convince him that nothing had happened—as she knew she couldn’t—she had bartered her body for his freedom, sold herself like a well-paid whore. Morgan wanted the delicate kind of woman who would kill herself rather than let a man use her body—no matter what the reason.
Silver glanced out the portholes that stretched above Morgan’s wide berth, remembering the times they had made love there, sometimes with fiery anger, sometimes with gentleness, always with a burning passion neither could deny. Now he was living in the tiny steward’s cabin, had insisted Silver take the bigger room, wouldn’t have it any other way. He was doing everything in his power to see to her comfort,
yet she felt him pulling farther and farther away. Soon she’d be nothing but a woman who traveled aboard his ship, someone to receive the usual shipboard courtesies—nothing more.
Maybe that would work for Morgan. Maybe he could set her away from him and never look back. But Silver couldn’t. Every night she lay awake listening for his footfalls, wishing with every ounce of her will that he would come to her with understanding, at least give her the chance to explain. Sometimes she tossed and turned for hours, waiting, listening, but his steps came only in the wee hours just before dawn. When their paths chanced to meet, Morgan remained polite but withdrawn, and he never approached her unless he had to.
Through the porthole, lightning flashed in the distance. A norther, Morgan had called it on their inbound journey, when they had sailed into one of the small spring squalls that tossed the Caribbean this time of year. This one was still some distance away, but the seas were beginning to stir, and dark clouds covered the moon. It looked black and forbidding, grim and depressing.
Silver watched the storm, and desperate sobs welled up in her throat. For days she had maintained control. Held her terrible fears in check, kept her powerful emotions of love and loss from overwhelming her. But like the winds of the storm, they hovered not far away.
For the first time it occurred to Silver that she felt worse now than she had in those moments when she’d faced Alberto Hernandez. Then she’d had Morgan’s love—or at least some part of it. She had known he was free and the thought made her heart soar. It had given her the strength she needed. Believing he still cared for her, she could endure anything
—even the general’s brutal advances. Now that she was safe on board Morgan’s ship, her strength deserted her as it never had before.
Silver got up from the bed and walked absently toward the bureau, her eyes fixed on Morgan’s razor, resting beside the basin. A sad smile curved her lips as she remembered with fondness the morning she had watched him shave. He’d looked so achingly handsome standing there bare-chested, so masculine, and even a little domestic. What a wonderful husband he would make. Caring and kind and considerate. Obstinate, to be sure, but proud and honorable and strong.
Knowing some other, more genteel lady would one day share his life, Silver felt a hard ache close her throat. How would she make it without him? How could she go on as she had before? He had changed her, she suddenly realized, touched and gentled her in some way she couldn’t explain. It made her feel vulnerable and more than a little afraid.
I won’t let it happen
, she vowed.
I’ve faced worse than this and survived. He’s just one man among many, just a man like all the rest
.
It was a lie, and she knew it. Morgan was like no other man she had known. He was power and passion, strength and gentleness. Morgan was her light in the darkness. He was her heart and her love. Without him, life stretched ahead of her, bleak and empty. For her there could be no other.
Dear God, I love him so
.
Silver glanced toward Morgan’s desk, where his feathered pen rested in the inkwell. His log lay open, but no entries had been written since the day of their departure from Mexico. She wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he might be as lonely as she. It
seemed impossible. Morgan had only to reach for her and Silver would be there. She would go into his arms without a moment’s hesitation, as certain of her love as she was that she still breathed.
She thought of Jacques and Teresa, of the happiness the two of them shared. They could speak to each other with just a word or a touch. But she and Morgan weren’t that way. They were private people who shared little of themselves with others. Was that what each of them wanted? To live separate and apart, afraid to share, afraid to love? It wasn’t what Silver wanted.
With a burst of clarity, Silver made the painful decision she had known she would make from the start. Tonight she would go to him, admit her feelings, the love she held in her heart. It would take all the courage she possessed, all the strength of will she could muster. Still, she would go.
Though the hour was late, Morgan would be up on deck, as he had been each night since their return. Now was the time to approach him—before she could change her mind. Even the next few moments seemed crucial. Her tenuous thread of courage might desert her at any time.
Squaring her shoulders, Silver started for the door, but her hand stilled on the latch. The broken shard of mirror reflected her wan appearance, the hair that hung loosely around her shoulders, always a little bit tumbled. Absently she picked up her brush and began to smooth it. Anything to postpone the task ahead. Half of her wanted to hurry, to say the words and end her torture one way or the other. But the other half cautioned,
You know he won’t listen. He’s never believed in you, he won’t believe you now, and even if he does, it won’t matter
. He thought of her
differently now, not worthy of his attentions. Certainly not worthy of his love.
What kind of woman are you
? he had said. The kind who would use her body to buy his freedom. She would never be the gently reared lady Morgan wanted; she had proved that beyond all doubt. She refused to consider that he might return her to her father. Even that for now seemed unimportant. All that mattered was that she somehow reach him, regain the passion they had shared.
With trembling fingers Silver picked up the black wool shawl she had been given when she’d first come aboard and draped it across her bare shoulders. It wasn’t really cold outside, just chilly and windy.
Inside was where she was cold.
Outside the cabin, the wind whipped her skirts as she walked along the deck, determined to seek him out. As she had hoped, most of the men lay sleeping, sprawled on the deck near the center of the ship. Up toward the bow, she saw a man’s broad shoulders silhouetted in the intermittent moonlight that shone between the clouds and instantly recognized Morgan’s perfect V-shaped frame. A rush of warmth swept over her, so poignant it nearly made her weep.
Dear God, let him listen
.
He turned at her approach but didn’t move, just stood watching from the shadows of the darkness, his sun-browned fingers tightening on the rail.
“You’re out late,” he finally said in that guarded way of his.
“Yes,” Silver whispered, forcing the word past the tightness in her throat. “I needed to speak to you.”
“Oh?” He arched a dark blond brow. “What about?”
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. She had to. Her
breath seemed lodged in her throat. “I know what you think of me. I know what you must feel.”
“Silver—”
“If I told you nothing happened, would you still think me a whore?”
Morgan’s head came up. “What? What did you say?”
“In the general’s chamber”—she rushed on—“it wasn’t at all what it seemed. I was trying to reach the candlestick to use as a weapon. In another minute or two I would have had it. I know what it must have looked like—”
“Stop it.”
“I know what you must think, but I—”
“Stop it!”
At the harsh tone of his words, tears stung Silver’s eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “I know you think the worst of me, that I acted like a whore—”
“Whore?” Morgan repeated. “Whore!” He took a step in her direction, his face a mask of pain. “Surely you can’t believe that I …” But his words trailed off as he read her tortured expression. “God in heaven, Silver—” It was almost a plea. “How could I think you less than a saint for putting yourself in such danger? You put your life before mine. How could I fault you when you sacrificed yourself for me?”
Silver was crying now, soft, broken sobs that seemed to come endlessly from somewhere inside her. She willed him to reach for her, wanted him to hold her so badly she thought she would die of it.
Touch me!
her heart cried.
Love me!
“It is I who failed you, Silver,” Morgan said, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t bear to face you. I can’t forgive myself for what I let happen. I keep seeing you lying there beneath him, struggling
against his thick body, fighting Hernandez, when it should have been me.”
Silver tried to grasp his words. She couldn’t accept the regret on his face or the torment she read in his eyes. “You came for me,” she said, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope. “You were tortured, and you were beaten, and still you came back for me.”
“I should have come sooner. I should have protected you. If I’d taken you back to Barbados when you stowed aboard the ship, none of this would have happened. Hernández never would have hurt you.”
“Hernández failed; you came before he could finish. But even if he hadn’t, it wouldn’t matter. I love you,” she said softly, “and I would do it again.”
Morgan just looked at her, his eyes moving over her tear-stained face, the trembling fingers that clutched the folds of her apricot skirt. She was so much woman. So passionate and strong.
God, how I love you
. Powerful strides, long overdue, carried him to her side, and he swept her into his arms. “Forgive me, darling Silver. Forgive me.”
He kissed her eyes, her nose, her lips, the sweet taste of her giving him nourishment, bringing sustenance to his parched and empty soul. “If I had known what you were thinking, if I had believed for an instant that you blamed yourself, I would have come to you and begged your forgiveness. I beg for it now.”
“I need you,” Silver whispered, kissing him with such fierce desperation Morgan groaned. “And I love you so.”
I love you more
, he thought, but he didn’t say the words. Couldn’t. Not now. Not after what he had done to her. Regret welled up in his heart, regret that he had not gone to her—and a relief so profound it overwhelmed him. He felt like a dead man who
had just been resurrected. There was life in his veins, not bleak, stark emptiness. There was joy in the world, and all of it was Silver.
“You’re mine, Silver Jones. You belong to me, and I’ll never let you go.” With that he swung her up in his arms and carried her off toward his cabin.