Chapter Six
The journey from Holland to Spain was exquisite torture for Caleb. How long he had yearned for the feel of the deck beneath his feet while he had been at the academy. How he had dreamed of Sirena’s beautiful face and coming beneath her loving gaze. And for the sight of his father, too, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Now, everything was in turmoil thanks to Regan’s doing.
Day after day Caleb watched Sirena as she stood at the wheel, her hands tightly clutching it. Her green eyes held smoldering fires, her face was a frozen mask of fury. Although she spoke quietly, there was a cold ring of steel in her voice. No one questioned her or gave her cause for anger. Even Frau Holtz kept her distance and remained silent.
What would Regan do when he came face to face with Sirena? Caleb imagined the duel. There was no question in his mind it would come to a duel, that the two of them would pace off and attack. In Caleb’s imagination, the sound of the hasps as the hatch was lifted became the sound of rapier against rapier as Regan and Sirena fought once again. God, no, he muttered to himself. He never again wanted to see his father and Sirena square off against one another. Regan would kill her this time. Motherhood and grief would have taken their toll on the long-legged creature who now stood at the helm. She would not be a match for the dynamic Regan van der Rhys.
A land bird flew close to the swiftly moving Rana. Soon, thought Caleb, soon they would sight Spain and make the port of Cádiz. Then Sirena’s real troubles would begin. She wouldn’t be able to tire herself with exhausting hours at the frigate’s wheel so when she did finally lie down in her bunk, a heavy sleep could be her escape. He, also, would be forced to face much unpleasantness. He could feel it in his bones. What would Regan’s reaction be when he discovered that he was with Sirena? Would he feel betrayed and enraged or would he be secretly relieved that Caleb could look after his ex-wife. Ex-wife? Caleb felt the need to spit even as he thought the word. He tossed his dark head and knew he didn’t care what Regan thought. Not now, not tomorrow, nor the day after tomorrow.
“Caleb, take over,” Sirena called.
Caleb hastened to do her bidding, glad to free his mind of his tormenting thoughts.
“Within the week, barring bad weather, we should sight Spain. Home,” she said with a wistful note. “My birthplace, Caleb.” Abruptly, Sirena snapped herself from her melancholia. “Three hours at the wheel and then have Franco relieve you. We’ll have a fencing lesson after our meal? What do you think?”
Caleb’s heart leapt to his throat. Was she going to practice to prepare herself for meeting Regan? Caleb gulped but agreed to the match, hoping he would make a worthy show of himself. Although he had practiced the sport with the best masters Holland could offer, he knew that when Sirena was at her finest she could have easily taken any of his teachers. Still, the fear kept niggling at him that Sirena was not as quick as she had once been and that she would make an easy target for Regan’s onslaught if it were ever to come to a confrontation. His thoughts brightened as he remembered Sirena as she had once been. Fleet of foot, quick of reflex, feisty and daring, determined never to allow any man to put her at a disadvantage. She had been filled with torment and the need for vengeance just as she was now. He knew from experience the effect that emotional state had on her; it could give her impetus and heighten her reflexes and accentuate her expertise. He would have to bring into play everything he had ever learned in order to make a worthy opponent and not make a fool of himself.
Below deck Sirena unsheathed her rapier and looked at it for a moment. Slowly, she ran her fingers down the smooth shaft of steel and flexed the slender blade. Suddenly, she dug the point into the floor with a quick, fluid motion. She smiled at the shocked look on Frau Holtz’s ruddy face. She held her arms out before her and clenched and unclenched her honey-colored hands. “Still nimble, wouldn’t you say, Frau Holtz?” she laughed and withdrew the weapon from the floorboards. Swiftly, she spun about and rested the blade’s tip against the portly woman’s middle.
“Extremely nimble,” the Frau grimaced.
“A few simple exercises and practice sessions with Caleb and my form will return,” Sirena observed confidently.
“And then . . . ?” the old housekeeper asked quietly.
Sirena shrugged her graceful shoulders. “Just that. My form will have returned,” she answered airily. “I’ve never killed for the sake of killing, Frau Holtz. You know this is true. It is only that I feel it to my advantage to keep in form,” she laughed. “I believe I’ll rest until it is time for our meal. Wake me when it’s ready, will you, old friend?”
“Ja. I wake you. Sleep, Mevrouw.” The housekeeper settled herself on a hard, wooden chair and waited for Sirena to doze off. Her faded blue eyes were sad and tender. The Mevrouw had had more than her share of misfortune and, if she could find some escape from the loss in sleep, then the old woman decided no one would rob Sirena of it by awakening her.
As Frau Holtz stared down at Sirena, her heart lay heavy in her ample breast. Sirena had suffered more than any woman should. Everything had been stripped from her. Her wealth, her property, the man she loved and the son she adored. Only Caleb remained, the flesh of another woman. How long, Frau Holtz wondered, would it be before Sirena found Caleb too painful a reminder of Regan? Hadn’t she already seen a coldness creep into the Mevrouw’s eyes when she looked at the boy? Wasn’t there a strident, hostile note to be heard in her voice when she spoke to Caleb? Frau Holtz shook her iron-gray head and attempted to turn her thoughts to happier times.
Jacobus had outdone himself in the preparation of the evening meal and it was with glowing pride that he placed a serving of flaky, baked, freshly caught fish before Frau Holtz. He had conceived a special treat for them by digging into his treasure trove of potatoes and frying them with one of his precious onions. Fresh vegetables were always a luxury aboard ship and from somewhere in his larder he produced a finely shredded cabbage stewed with morsels of salt pork and seasoned with vinegar.
Frau Holtz sniffed haughtily at his small miracle and began to pick delicately at her platter. To Jacobus’ delight, one forkful was followed by another and another, until the Frau’s plate looked as though it had been licked clean. The crew was more vocal in their appreciation, and the compliments were music to Jacobus’ ears.
Only Sirena and Caleb ate sparingly. If anyone noticed their apparent lack of appetite, it went unmentioned. All knew they were measuring each other for the dueling match and both contenders knew an empty belly made a better warrior.
A brisk breeze blew up with the approach of evening and Caleb waited for Sirena to appear on the quarterdeck. The crew had gathered about, propping themselves against the rail or lazily lolling on the hatch doors. Caleb was aware of an exhilaration building within him.
Sirena appeared on deck, dressed as she always was when at sea, in her short, tatter-edged breeches and full-sleeved blouse which she tied tightly beneath her high, proud breasts. She had wrapped a multicolored silk scarf about her head to keep her long, heavy hair from flying into her face. Caleb felt a familiar pride in her as he watched Sirena walk toward him. It was easy to see why she had captivated Regan’s passions. Open admiration shone in his dark gaze. Time and motherhood hadn’t changed her at all. She was still as sleek as a cat and moved with a feline’s easy grace. Her sinfully delightful legs were enhanced by the knee-high, black kid boots which were a part of her uniform, and her hips were still narrow and swung seductively when she walked. God, thought Caleb, how could my father turn away from such a magnificent creature.
There was nothing sexual in the way Caleb appreciated Sirena. He loved her, yes, but as a sister, and he hoped that one day he would find himself a woman as captivating and as exciting as Sirena, although at this moment he was certain that another such as she could never exist.
“Are you ready, Caleb?” Sirena asked, her eyes bright with challenge.
“Aye, Sirena, ready and waiting,” he answered, a grin splitting his face.
“Then select your weapon,” she instructed, holding forth the hilts of two rapiers. Caleb reached out, chose one and tested the thin blade by bowing it against the deck.
“You’ll notice the fencing tips are in place. I wouldn’t want you to take revenge for some real or fancied offense,” she laughed, a sour note in the tone. “We stepmothers have a reputation for being evil, or so you may have heard. Does the weapon meet with your expert satisfaction?” she teased lightly.
“More than you realize, Stepmother,” Caleb answered wickedly, taking fast swipes at the open air, the blade singing in a high-pitched whizz.
“If you’re ready then, en garde!” she ordered, taking a stance, feet spread for balance, rapier extended.
Caleb moved to stand opposite her, his lean strength adding to his princely grace. He waited for her to take the first thrust and she did, the tip of her blade piercing the space between his arm and his midsection.
Sirena brought up her arm and flexed her knees, slashing again at Caleb’s weapon. The blow nearly knocked the rapier from Caleb’s grip and he took a firmer hold on the hilt. Sirena’s strength surprised him and something in her eyes was unsettling. For a brief instant he wondered if she would have cut him with her first thrust had not the fencing tips been affixed.
Caleb took the initiative, aiming for Sirena’s midsection. She parried, recovered and nimbly sidestepped as again her blade struck out. His arm flew backward and he was astounded at her agility.
Caleb parried, feinted to the right and touched the tip of his weapon to her shoulder. “Touché!” he shouted exultantly.
“So, Caleb, the lessons you learned under your fencing instructors were not for naught. How nimbly you handle yourself,” she breathed heavily. “You are a greater challenge than I imagined.” Quickly, her rapier touched the hard flesh of his thigh and he jumped backward away from the pressure. “You still have difficulty with your concentration; someday it may mean the end of you.”
Caleb’s eyes widened then narrowed. Something in the tone of Sirena’s voice and the wicked glare in her clear green eyes chilled his blood. Allowing her opponent no time to regain himself, Sirena plunged onward, driving Caleb back against the rail. Time and again the tip of her weapon sought his flesh, time and again he parried, eluding the dangerous thrusts.
Fine beads of perspiration glistened on Sirena’s upper lip and it was evident to all who watched that she was hard pressed to see the contest to its finish. She moved with the grace of a cat, but to Caleb’s knowing eye she had become slower, out of practice. Her offensive tactics were contrived to conceal her deficiencies.
For an instant Caleb considered allowing her this win. He felt it would abate some of her torment and perhaps restore her faith in herself. A small voice called to Caleb. Let her win, let her win. It’s what she wants, what she needs! Save her this disgrace before her crew.
So totally against his principles were Caleb’s thoughts, that he rose to his own defense. His movements were those of a dancer, light and sure-footed. His motions were limited to protecting himself from her onslaught. He knew that at any time he could take her. The muscles in his back were bunched in anticipation. His blood ran fast, but his breathing remained light and unlabored. He had almost decided to give her a further advantage over him when he saw the smile on her face. Macabre! A grimace more than a smile. Deadly! A hatred burning from within. Caleb knew in that instant that Sirena was not seeing him, Caleb, within pointed range of her weapon. Her adversary was Regan.
Sirena’s heart pounded within her breast. Her arm was heavy and becoming impossible to lift. The rapier which had once been an extension of her own limb had become awkward and alien to her. Still, she pushed Caleb backward. Her blade came up with lightning speed and slashed across Caleb’s chest. She did not take her eyes from him. She watched him feint from one side to the other, always staying out of reach. Only the clash of steel upon steel could be heard above her ragged breathing. She was out of condition and she knew it, and her possible failure drove her onward with a vengeance.
The falling night lengthened the shadows, and in the half-light Caleb seemed to become Regan. Regan whom she hated; Regan whom she loved. Caleb’s costume enhanced the resemblance to his father: white shirt open to the waist, baring an expanse of bronze chest.
Reckless fury overtook her, blocking out all reason. Beyond feeling, she took the advantage again, swiping at Caleb’s weapon, sending a jarring blow near the hilt where he gripped it, sending the rapier sailing across the deck.
The silence of the onlookers was ominous, bated, waiting for Sirena’s next move. Jan stood ready to intervene, knowing Sirena’s mood had become lethal, waiting to step in to Caleb’s defense if necessary.
“Pick up your weapon,” she ordered in a tightly controlled voice. “This contest is not over.”
Caleb stepped across the deck, the hackles raising on his neck as he reached for his rapier. He had sensed a change in her since the contest began. This was the old Sirena—as she had been. when she met with her enemies. But he wasn’t her enemy! He was Caleb! Astounded that her feelings toward him had changed so radically, Caleb moved mechanically back to the opposing position.
Horrified, he and the crew watched Sirena pointedly remove the protective tip from her blade. Glaring at him through half-lowered lids, she warned, “You see what I have done. Protect yourself, remove the tip from your weapon!”
The crew was aghast. Frau Holtz held her breath, disbelieving what she had just heard. The old woman’s hand groped the air in horror. “No! No!” she heard herself cry out. Had Sirena gone mad?
Caleb watched Sirena as she advanced. Her eyes penetrated his being and held him locked in a stare. Again her blade flashed, and she lunged, aiming for his heart. Tears of rage blinded her as she thrust again, this time with frenzy.
Caleb’s gaze darkened as he effectively parried the offensive thrusts. She had backed him across the deck again. Soon he would be off balance if he couldn’t distract her long enough to turn around. “Kill me if you must, Sirena. I’ll fight no more!” he breathed, dropping his weapon defenselessly to his side.
Something in his words, in his voice disarmed her. She had heard those words before, but where? Who had said them to her in that same deep, gentle voice. Regan! Regan had said those words to her in the heat of a duel. The night had been dark as it was now. She had found the pirate Blackheart aboard his ship and she had met the swarthy Englishman at swords’ point. Then she had killed him. How many men had she killed? Oh God, is this the divine retribution You have sent me?
Dick Blackheart, the worst scurve ever to ride the seas! He had murdered Tio Juan, seen Isabella slain, raped Sirena, then offered her to his filthy crew. The night she had killed Blackheart, Regan had said those very words to her. “Kill me,” he had said softly. “I’ll fight no more ... You can’t win, lovely Sea Siren. You may have pinned me halward but you still have to kill me ... Can you do it?” His eyes had darkened and glints of admiration shone as he had gazed at Sirena.
But she hadn’t killed him, although there were times afterward when she almost wished she had. That night of bloodshed had ended in incomparable passion.
They had slipped aboard the deserted Rana, previously named Sea Siren, to bind one another’s wounds. The cabin was dim, the oil from the lamps gone, the globe shattered. Regan had noticed a telltale stain on the back of her blouse.
“You could do with a bit of ointment. Come here!” he had commanded.
Sirena had bristled at his tone and was ready to turn on him and loose her wrath. But she had been tired, every nerve within her clamored for relief. Wearily, she had joined Regan on the bunk, allowing him to bathe the backs of her hands with water from the ewer and apply the salve.
His attitude had been so intent as he went about the business of dressing her wounds. Gruffly, he had ordered her to turn around and Sirena had surprised herself by obeying. Roughly, he pushed her down on the bedding and, before she could protest, ripped the bloody, tattered shirt from her back.
“Hold still, Sea Witch, I don’t mean to hurt you.” Pressing her against the mattress, Regan had bathed away the blood, gently cleansing and tending the cut.
Slowly, Sirena had felt the tension of the fight drain out of her. The feel of his fingers on her flesh had been soothing, delivering her into a state of mind where she felt warm and peaceful.
From touch to caress, he had made love to her. He had awakened her sexuality with his lips, covering her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. She had moaned with exquisite joy and had welcomed him, pliant to his need and demands. They had shared love that night in the sequestering fog. Here, aboard this very ship, in her own cabin; her own bunk. Even now, she could almost hear her own voice as she had moaned against his lips, begging, imploring, “Have me! Have me now!”
Sirena saw Caleb give an imperceptible shake of his head to someone behind her. It was distraction enough for Caleb to change direction away from the rail. He began to move to midship, fending off Sirena’s slicing weapon with the clash of steel. Still, she advanced on him, taking leaps to bridge the distance he managed to put between them. Her mouth was set in a straight line, her eyes murky with anguish and tears glistened on her flushed cheeks. Caleb understood. And with that sudden comprehension came a sharing of her pain and, at that moment, he would have given his life to rid her of it.
Again and again she attacked, her rapier making singing noises as it dangerously passed his ear. In her madness she had opened herself to attack. She had left herself unguarded. Caleb could have easily brought her down.
The crew waited; Frau Holtz covered her eyes. Jacobus stepped closer to the Frau and comforted her, hushing her mindless wailing.
Back, back, she drove Caleb, back against the mizzenmast, trapped between the great solid shaft of wood and the rage of the Sea Siren.
Wordlessly, she made her intent clear. Her rapier’s tip slashed at his shirtfront, leaving tatters of the white cloth. Caleb could hear her deep heaving, saw the tears falling like silent soldiers on her cheeks.
Jabbing, she had him trapped; he could feel the heavy knots of the rigging hard against his back. She was so close he could feel her breath upon his cheek, but still he would not defend himself.
Sirena raised her arm, the rapier’s point aiming directly for his neck. With a cry of the forsaken damned she lunged forward, the last shred of her sanity compelling her to deviate from her intended target. The point buried itself in the mizzenmast mere inches from Caleb’s convulsing throat.
For a long moment they stared into one another’s eyes. The horror of her actions dawned on Sirena and she shuddered with shame. Caleb held his arms out to her in forgiveness.
Holding her close, he whispered, “Sirena, forgive me for looking so much like my father.”
Trying to control a torrent of tears, Sirena’s body shook. Her proud head hung low in shame and she would receive no comfort for what she had almost done. Not trusting her voice, she silently turned and walked slowly across the deck to her cabin.
Frau Holtz and the crew watched as she stepped inside and quietly closed the door, shutting out the world, preferring to suffer in isolation.
Sirena spent the next three days confined to the cabin, refusing to open the door even for Frau Holtz. Food left outside was left untouched; and when the Frau pressed her ear against the solid oak frame, no sounds could be heard from within. Only the lamp lighted within gave the housekeeper reason to sigh with relief.
Several times Frau Holtz implored Caleb to break down the door. “I’d do anything for you, Frau Holtz,” he answered softly, “anything but this. I know Sirena, and she needs this time without interference.” As he murmured the words, the housekeeper saw the depths of sympathy. His thoughts were plainly visible. Caleb was of the mind that Sirena had locked herself away because she could not bear the sight of him.
“I know what you’re thinking, Caleb,” Frau Holtz soothed, “and you’re wrong. Sirena loves you.”
“No, Frau Holtz,” he replied, “that was in the past. Now when she looks at me, she sees my father and she can’t bear it. If I thought it would give her any peace, I’d throw myself overboard and be done with it.”
The woman clasped him tightly. “Never say that Sirena would be lost without you; all she needs is time to straighten things in her own mind.”
Caleb patted her reassuringgly. “I know. Of course, you’re right. There’s no doubt in my mind she will come to terms with the divorce, sooner or later. Meanwhile, she has to face me and the memories I conjure. She’ll come out of this; I have faith in her.”
The Frau released Caleb from her embrace and did not refute what he had told her.
On the fourth day, when the housekeeper tried Sirena’s door, she was surprised to find it open. Balancing a laden breakfast tray on her hip, she kicked the door wider and entered, her sharp eyes raking the cabin. Sirena sat on the side of her bunk, her hair disheveled and her clothing wrinkled and untidy. The room looked exactly as it had the last time the Frau was in it, just before the contest with Caleb. So, Sirena had spent the past days huddled atop her bunk, sorting out her thoughts and emotions. From the expression of weary resolution on her face, apparently Sirena had come to terms with herself.
The fragrant aroma of coffee captured Sirena’s immediate attention. “I’ll be needing a bath, Frau Holtz. Will you see to it?”
“Ja, I will see to it,” the old woman answered, a cheery note in her voice as she spread honey on one of Jacobus’ biscuits and handed it to Sirena.
Sirena ate voraciously and swallowed down the last of the coffee while the Frau went to ask Jacobus to heat water for the high-back, copper hip bath. Jan and Willem returned with the water, deftly handling the heavy pails as though they were weightless. They offered her a jaunty salute and, after several moments’ conversation about latitude and longitude, Sirena dismissed them.
The Frau watched her Mevrouw carefully and saw that the hot water and fragrant bath salts were working their own special magic in restoring Sirena’s spirits. She watched Sirena’s green eyes take on their familiar glitter and her mouth hover somewhere between a smile and a pout.
As Sirena went about dressing in her abbreviated sea costume, Frau Holtz asked innocently, “Ja, it is good to see you yourself again, Mevrouw. Am I to take it you have come to terms with what the Mynheer has done?”
“Yes, Frau Holtz, you could say that. I know exactly where I stand! And I can tell you I don’t like it one bit!” Sirena’s movements became as angry as her emotions as she pulled on her tall kid boots. “Divorce me, will he!” she muttered. “Pension me off, as he no doubt intends to do. Oh, Regan is too much the gentleman to think of me destitute and starving and he certainly wouldn’t like to consider me taking to piracy to seek a living! No, he’ll see to it that I’m given a generous allotment.”
She slipped a brilliant silk print blouse over her smooth shoulders and tied it tightly beneath her jutting breasts. “Cast me aside like an old shoe, steal my inheritance! Bastard!” she cursed, to Frau Holtz’s stunned amazement. “He’ll rue the day he ever left Java!”
“How do you intend to do this?” Frau Holtz asked fearfully.
“You heard me, I’ll get it all back and then some,” Sirena shouted, “one way or another. And Regan, too! He’ll not get away with stealing from me and then divorcing me!”
“But, Mevrouw,” Frau Holtz soothed, “the law reads that a husband has control of his wife’s holdings. You relinquished all rights to your inheritance when you married him. That is hardly stealing!” “Well, I call it
Sirena turned to the other woman. “Well, I call it thievery! Listen, old friend, when I was Regan’s wife, anything and everything was his, with my blessings. When I knew he loved me, I gave myself and all I owned to his safekeeping. I trusted him, with my heart, my life, everything. Well, he’s betrayed that trust! Oh, I know all about men who become tired of their wives and look for excitement in another woman’s bed. The most those wives can hope for is that their husbands do it discreetly, leaving them the tatters of their dignity to shield themselves from the mockery of the world. Regan has not even left me this. He has stripped everything away from me and left me to live from his charity. Yes, I told you it was quite possible Tio Esteban has my mother’s fortune in safekeeping for me, but it is essentially the same. I don’t even have a sham of a marriage to hide behind; he has left me a scorned woman!”
“No, I don’t believe it,” the Frau protested. “There’s an error, a misunderstanding. Never have I seen two people so much in love ... so right together ... The Mynheer is—”
“The Mynheer is stupid!” Sirena finished her sentence. “He should know better than to do this to me. Does he think I’ll sit idly by while he philanders around and spends my money? He thinks I’m still in Java. He considers himself safe and free to do as he wishes ... with my money! Oh! I can almost see him, so smug and content with himself. Hear me well, Frau Holtz, I’ll get it back, every last penny. He’s going to live in England. Hah! If he can still call it living, when I’m through with him. I’ll take everything that’s mine; and, if he’s lucky enough to withhold a single pound sterling I’ll shove it down his throat! He has his own wealth from liquidating his properties in Batavia. Let him go back there and uproot those awful nutmeg trees I nearly broke my back planting for him. You, too, Frau Holtz. Don’t you remember the long hours we spent restoring the plantation after the volcano erupted, leaving nothing behind but ashes? And who reaped the harvest? Regan! And what does he do? He takes everything I worked so hard to give him and runs to Spain where he can take everything my family struggled for. My inheritance, my ships, everything!” Exhausted from her tirade, Sirena threw herself on her bunk and stared up at the ceiling.
Sirena’s anger was a relief to the Frau. Too long Sirena had been lethargic, a shell of herself. Anything, even this rage, was better than that stillness.
Later, on deck, Sirena held the wheel, which was nearly as tall as herself, in her capable hands. This was where she belonged. The tang of the salt air, the spindrift spraying her ivory cheeks as she stood with her feet firmly placed on the rolling deck. This was home. Yet, there was something missing. A tight feeling of discontent still lay heavy on her. Home was the deck of the Rana but, soon now, she would have to face the world and society. She wondered if somehow it was stamped on her features that she was a woman who had been found lacking by her husband. That she was unwanted, rejected, scorned. An icy-cold glare crept into her eyes and she was aware that a part of her retreated into herself. Was she destined to ride the sea for the remainder of her life, a soul-less being, hiding from the world’s condemnation?