Chapter 13
“Matthew.” Mama was clad all in black this afternoon with a Spanish lace mantilla over her sparse white hair. She did not rise from her cushioned, high-backed chair, but extended both wrinkled hands to him in the familiar gesture that never failed to bring a catch to his throat.
A huge ruby flashed on one slim finger, a priceless, square-cut emerald on another. Mama’s left hand was adorned by only a single gold wedding ring, worn thin with age. Her nails were very long and carefully shaped.
“A good day to you, Mama,” he replied, taking her tiny hands in his. She squeezed tightly, showing surprising strength for one of her advanced years.
“Matthew, darling.” She turned a withered cheek for his kiss. Her skin was the color of old bronze and cool to the touch; her voice was as crumbly as dried sugar cane.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked. He worried constantly about her health, although he’d never known her to be sick a day in his entire life. His mother was long past the time when most women had gone to their graves, but she was unique enough to be immortal. He didn’t want to think about her dying—not ever. In all the world, she was the only one who had ever loved him, and the only one he had ever loved . . . except for Simon.
Thinking about Simon made Matthew’s headache worse. His son—his only son—lost to him forever. Unless we meet in hell, he thought wryly. For not even a loving father could imagine Simon in heaven.
Mama frowned. “I did not see you at Mass this morning.”
“What?” He watched a small green lizard dart along the windowsill and pretended ignorance. The scent of orchids was almost overwhelming. Mama’s garden, just outside the floor-to-ceiling louvered doors, was full of orchids—in every size and color. The heavy smell blended with the odor of citrus and flowering vines.
“Mass. You were not at Mass. Have a care for your soul, Matthew,” she rebuked gently. “I fear your sins are . . .”
He smiled at her as a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. “You pray enough for both of us.” She wouldn’t yell at him today. Mama might be deadly, but she was never treacherous. If she was angry with him, she said so at once. “I remembered my decades,” he soothed. “And I promise my next prize to that convent of yours.”
“A pirate cannot buy his way into heaven.”
“I am no pirate. Corsair, maybe, or buccaneer.” He chuckled. “Who else could Falconer find to do the dirty work so efficiently?”
“You are no longer a young man, Matthew.”
He shrugged. “Then I will repent of my sins and take up a life of good works and charity as soon as . . .” He grinned heartily. “As soon as I am too old to enjoy a good swiving.”
“For shame, to jest of such serious matters.”
“I will change my ways when I am your age and too old to sin.”
“How can you speak to your aged mother in such a fashion?” she admonished.
He did not miss the twinkle of mischief in her bright eyes. Once, they must have been as brown as earth; now they swirled with gray and silver. But they were still shrewd eyes, eyes that could bore into a man’s heart and ferret out the lies he told himself and others. “You cannot tell me that you do not have your own lusts, Mama? Where else would I have inherited such an appetite? Not from Father, though Lud knows he was besotted with you. Else why would he have married a penniless—”
She laughed, a rustling sound that made him imagine the once vibrant woman beneath the wrinkles and the gnarled flesh. “I was a serving woman in this house, and he was the son of a royal governor,” she said proudly. “He came to me in his hour of need and you were conceived. Then I gave him what no other woman could give him—a son. We were married, Peregrine and I, because the church would not legitimize you if we were not.” She laughed again. “It cost a king’s ransom—even in those days when money went farther than it does today. But Peregrine Kay would not have his son a bastard. His father, Governor Matthew Kay—you are named after him, you know. A great man, Governor Kay, though not so far-thinking as your father. Your father suffered from the falling sickness, but that did not prevent him from . . .”
Matthew shifted restlessly in his chair and wondered if the twins had left the house. He had heard this story of his mother’s wedding and his father’s genius a hundred times. Matthew’s mind wandered as she rambled on. He had promised the crew a week ashore before they set sail for the Brazilian coast, but perhaps—
She rapped him sharply with her ivory fan. “Listen to me when I talk to you.”
“I always listen.”
“You listen, but you do not heed me. You will go to hell. My only child, burning forever in the fires of—”
“I went to confession only last week, Mama. Surely you can’t believe that even I could sin enough to damn my soul in seven days.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do not treat me like a fool. They do not call you Red Hands for nothing. I know of that French merchant, Paysanne, you took off Cuba last month. And I heard of atrocities performed on the passengers.”
“They would not disclose the location of certain valuables. An unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“I am very disappointed in you, Matthew. Your father would never have—”
“I went to confession last week, Mama. My soul is as fresh as a new-washed leaf.”
She looked unconvinced. “My maids have been complaining. Remember that you are a guest in my house. Confine your attentions to your common women and leave mine alone.”
“You should not listen to servants’ gossip. They exaggerate.” He smiled at her and drew up a chair. “I brought you back something from Trinidad. Wait until you see. It is—”
She held up her hand for silence. “I did not call you from your whoring to exchange pleasant conversation. There is important news. News that you will want to hear. Falconer has received a letter from the Maryland Colony.”
“I do not have all day, Mama. Tell me this message and be done with it.”
“It concerns Simon.” That had his attention. Annemie forced herself not to show her pleasure. Matthew was a terrible man, but a good son. It was necessary to keep him on a tight rein, lest he regard her as lightly as he did other women.
It had been her lifelong sorrow that the only child she and Peregrine had produced should turn out to be so stupid. Matthew would never be anything more than a vicious sea wolf. He was a man born to hang. She had had higher hopes of her grandson Simon, but he had been cut down before he reached his full potential. For Peregrine’s sake, she must put aside her personal desires and convince Matthew to sire more legitimate children to carry on the family name.
“I have the name of Simon’s murderer,” she said softly. Matthew’s dark eyes bulged.
“Give me his name,” he demanded. “Be he prince or pope, I’ll skin the hide from his living body and make a pouch to hold his heart. I’ll burn his—”
“Enough of such childish prattle. Listen to me,” she said, seizing his thick hands in hers. The backs of Matthew’s hands and his arms were covered with curling black hair. She had always wondered where the trait had come from. Combined with his wedge-shaped body and round face, it gave him the appearance of a bear. “The American privateer Osprey was responsible for Simon’s death.”
“That tells me nothing,” he growled. “We knew as much from other sources.”
“Ah,” Annemie continued, “but our other sources did not tell us that Osprey is really a colonial by the name of Garrett Faulkner. Or that this same Garrett Faulkner is even now en route to the islands. Or that he has married Caroline Talbot of Fortune’s Gift on the Chesapeake.”
“Faulkner comes here?”
Annemie nodded. “Her cousin sent word to Falconer. This cousin wished to marry the wealthy widow himself. He has, offered Falconer one half of the lady’s vast wealth if he will kill Osprey and return the girl to his loving care.”
“Where is the girl? Is she with him? I’ll spread-eagle Osprey and make him watch while I—”
“You will not.”
“I’ll have vengeance on Osprey if I have to kill you to do it, Mama. You’ll not deny me on this.”
“When have I ever denied you anything?” She had no intention of letting him have Garrett Faulkner until she could examine him and find out exactly who and what he was. But Matthew was like a child. She could not tell him everything at once.
She had mused on Faulkner’s name since she’d first seen it. Faulkner was so similar to Falconer. A coincidence? She had lived long and seen few true coincidences.
Matthew leaped up and began to pace back and forth. “I’ll rip his eyes out with fishhooks, I’ll cut his—”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you will.” She sighed and fanned herself. Matthew’s pleasures were so disgusting. “You may have Osprey to do with as you will,” she promised. “But the girl—”
“Did the letter say what she looks like? If she is an heiress, she will have the face of a sea cook. But her face doesn’t matter. I will—”
“You will dispose of the husband and wed the wench yourself.”
“Are you mad, old woman?”
“Mad.” She laughed. “I am the only sane one in this room. You have no son. Caroline Talbot—whatever she may call herself—is the granddaughter of Kincaid and Bess Bennett and the great-great-granddaughter of Lacy and James Bennett. They are old enemies of Falconer. In your grandfather’s time Lacy and James robbed a fortune in Spanish treasure from—”
“Why do you cling to the past? What has this to do with the wench?”
Memories of her dead grandson swept over her, the grandson that Osprey had sent to the bottom of the sea. “Debts must be paid, my son. Friends rewarded, enemies destroyed.”
Simon, she thought sadly. My Simon . . . You were my hope for the future. Not slow of wit like Matthew. You were smart, a willing pupil. You would have been a fit candidate to wear the Falconer’s mantle.
“This James is long dead. Why should we—”
Annemie raked him with a fierce gaze. “Fool! The land of Fortune’s Gift was purchased with gold that should have been Falconer’s. By your marriage to Caroline Talbot, you will bring that which was lost back into the fold.”
“She is Osprey’s wife?”
“Apparently. But marriage is a simple matter to undo. She was a widow when he found her; she will be a widow again when you have dealt with him as he deserves.”
“She will hold Osprey’s death against me. Why should I be saddled with an ugly, weeping wife?”
“Get a child on her, and you may do as you like. You are no longer young. By marrying Caroline Talbot, you will secure a wealthy wife of high birth and cancel all debts. Will it not be a final blow to Osprey, to take his bride before he is cold?”
Matthew’s shaggy black brows drew together. His forehead wrinkled in thought. It was a complicated scheme she had proposed, and Matthew never liked doing more than one thing at a time.
“I can use the woman?”
“Once she is your wife, you may take a husband’s right with her.” Her ancient voice rang with authority. “But you may not kill her until she has delivered a living child of your loins.”
“What if she quickens with a jill instead of a jack?”
“A son would be best. But boy or girl, I care not, I must have a grandchild.” I must have a bloodline to continue on, she thought. I am weary of life and long to join my Peregrine in paradise. But I cannot die without ensuring the family—
“You have me,” Matthew reminded her sullenly.
“I have you, my lamb,” she agreed. “But you take too many chances with your life. I must have a grandchild. And this woman must be his dam.”
“Why do they come here, this Captain Osprey and the wench?”
“It matters not why, only that they come,” she answered him. But her mind was whirling with possibilities. Peregrine had always believed that there was more treasure on Arawak. “Our informant says their destination is Arawak Island.”
“Arawak? No one goes to Arawak. Even the Indians will not live there—they say it is haunted by the ghosts of dead Caribs.”
“You are not afraid of ghosts, are you, my son?”
He growled. “I fear only cold steel and hot lead.”
“And it is not far.”
“Not sixty leagues from Jamaica.”
She laughed. “Don’t you see? Like a spider I have waited patiently all these months since my precious Simon was killed. And now these two fly into my web as careless as mosquitoes. What do we do with mosquitoes, Matthew?”
“We swat them.”
“And destroy them utterly . . . leaving no trace that they ever existed.”
“Simon’s murderer will take a long time to die. His screams will sound sweet to my ears.”
“I’m sure.” She tapped his wrist with her fan again. “But you may not kill him until he has been brought before Falconer.”
“Why not?”
“Do not question me. I am firm on this. They must both be brought whole and alive. After they have been questioned, then you may have your fun.” Once Falconer was clear as to who Garrett Faulkner was, then she could reason with Matthew. After all, when her dear son lied to her so often, why should she bother to be completely honest with him? Matthew was a dangerous weapon that must be handled with extreme care.
“It is unfair that I should do the work of catching him and then have to wait,” he grumbled.
“Life is unfair,” she said. Sighing, she settled back on the cushion. “I knew when I felt the ocean breeze on my face this morning that it would be a fortuitous day.” Her face hardened. “I never guessed just how fortuitous.”
It was late at night. Aboard the Dutch merchant ship, Caroline and Garrett stood by the rail in the pale moonlight wrapped in each other’s arms. Satiated and utterly content, Caroline leaned against him, waiting for her body to stop trembling and her heartbeat to slow to normal.
Once again, they had been unable to hold back the tides of passion. Here, on the open deck, she had given him what they both wanted so desperately, without heed for propriety. They had made fast and furious love in the shelter of a stack of cargo, and her lips still tasted of Garrett’s.
He wrapped a stray lock of her hair around his finger and lifted it to rub against his face. “I think I have the imprint of a cask rim permanently creased in my knee,” he murmured.
She laughed softly. “It seems there is never a bed near when we need one.”
“If there was, I’d stay between the sheets day and night. You will be the death of me.”
She twisted around so that her back and buttocks rested against his chest and loins, and his arms were still locked around her. She didn’t want to think, and she didn’t want these overwhelming sensations of languid pleasure to stop. Words seemed inadequate for the emotion she was feeling, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and gazed out at the shimmering, velvet sea.
The ocean was as calm as the surface of the river that flowed past Fortune’s Gift. Only gentle waves rose and undulated in slow, sensual patterns. The soft salt breeze carried a promise of warm green islands and exotic flowers. The rhythmic sounds of rope and sail and water played a dreamy melody that blended with the Caribbean night until Caroline wanted to weep for the beauty of it all.
“I’ve never known a woman quite like you,” he said, “nor one so vibrant and full of life.”
“Save your compliments for the young girls,” she answered. She was confused enough without listening to such silken words from him.
She didn’t know if what she felt for Garrett was love or lust; she only knew that the moments they were apart seemed desolate. And when she could see him . . . touch him . . . hear his voice—she was happier than she had ever been in her life.
“When we get to this island kingdom of yours,” he began, “I will regret the end of this voyage. I . . .”
She deliberately closed her mind to what he was saying. She would not listen—would not try to imagine him going away from her . . . or the lonely nights ahead of her.
I won’t let him go, she vowed. He feels something for me, I know he does. We can stay on Arawak after we find the treasure. Once Reed is freed from prison, there’s no reason for us to go back to the Chesapeake. I’ve given enough to the cause. I’ve lost one husband and I don’t intend to lose another.
This war with England could go on for years. Even if she was willing to take the risk and return to Fortune’s Gift, how could she justify leading Amanda and Jeremy back into danger?
Garrett cupped her breast possessively with one warm hand and teased her nipple with his thumb until it hardened to an aching nub and her breathing quickened. “Stop,” she protested, halfheartedly. Her clothing was all awry; her thighs were still wet from his lovemaking. And already, she wanted him again. “If someone sees us—” she began.
“You weren’t worried about that a few minutes ago,” he reminded her. He rubbed against her so that she could feel his growing need.
“My hair . . .” She put a hand up and laughed. She had lost her cap somewhere and her hair was as wild as a gypsy’s. “Last night when I went back to my cabin, Mistress Paine—the long-nosed baker’s wife—rolled her eyes and called me a common trull.”
“Never common.”
She giggled. “That’s what I told her.” She, Amanda, and Jeremy, were packed into a narrow cabin with four other women, as tightly as leaves in a tobacco cask. There were no private cabins on the Kaatje. Even the captain shared his quarters with his first officer.
They were both quiet for a long time, and Garrett’s next statement surprised her. “Would you go to England if I asked you?”
“England?” she echoed. If he was an American sympathizer, why would he want her to go to England?
“I can think of no place safer. And I want you safe—you and Amanda and Jeremy.” He kissed the crown of her head. “I don’t want to leave you here alone in the islands, and I can’t think of taking you back to Fortune’s Gift and putting you within reach of your cousin again.”
“You have no responsibility for us,” she answered. “That was never part of our agreement.” Her mouth felt dry, and a dull ache began in her temple. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“So you say.” He kissed the crown of her head again.
“I won’t go to England.”
“Things have changed between us, Caroline.”
“Perhaps.”
He lifted the mass of hair at the back of her neck and lowered his head to kiss her there. Shivers ran down her spine and she made a small sound in her throat. “I wish we had met another time and place,” he said. “It was simpler when I didn’t care about you.”
She swallowed. “You married me for my money, Garrett. Don’t pretend that’s changed.”
His voice grew hoarse with emotion. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“We could both stay in the islands until the war is over. We wouldn’t have to return to the Chesapeake to pay Major Whitehead to arrange for Reed’s pardon.” The ache in her forehead was spreading. She closed her eyes and saw pinwheels of sparkling light.
“I don’t trust the major. How do you know he won’t take your money and—”
She opened her eyes and looked at the sea. The moon was only a thin sliver, and there were no stars visible. “What other choice do I have?” she protested, beginning to feel slightly dizzy. “Reed is . . . Reed . . .”
“There are other options,” Garrett said. “We can . . .”
Without warning, the boundaries of Caroline’s vision began to alter. Crisp, bright images swirled in her mind. One picture after another formed and settled into focus, to be replaced by another and another with the sudden, sharp intensity of a whip’s crack.
Reed . . . hardly more than a baby.
Reed’s red cheeks glowing, his chubby legs rising and falling as he ran down the furrows of the cornfield shouting for her to wait . . . A slightly older Reed falling from the hayloft and breaking an arm. An earnest young man dressing for his first adult gathering and asking her to tie his stock.
Caroline sighed and her head fell back against Garrett as the pull of the past grew stronger. For a space of time, she was caught between two worlds, and then she could no longer resist the power of her waking dream.
Reed’s laughing face . . .
Reed lifting Papa’s silver goblet and drinking a toast to Patrick Henry and his bold speech. Reed holding Amanda’s hands and boasting of Osprey’s victories at sea. Reed, as she had last seen him, the night before he and Wesley went to join Osprey . . .
From far off, Caroline was vaguely aware of Garrett’s voice and his touch, of the gentle roll of the Kaatje under her feet. But that was not as real as Reed and the events replaying in her mind’s eye.
Reed . . . Reed embracing Amanda as he made his farewells.
Caroline watched them with the detachment of a total stranger. Had they always held each other so tightly? Had Amanda’s eyes always shone with so much love when she looked at her brother? As Caroline puzzled over those questions, the image of the great hall at Fortune’s Gift faded, to be replaced by the terrifying scene of the deck of a burning ship.
Cannon and musket fire shattered the night. The crash of falling yards and the screams of wounded men made Caroline’s blood run cold. A fair-haired officer in Continental uniform of blue and white knelt beside a shadowy figure trapped in a morass of tangled rope and burning sails. The young man—her brother, Reed—strained at the shattered mast that held his comrade pinned to the deck until veins bulged out on his forehead.
“Caroline!” Garrett shook her.
She tossed her head, not wanting to look . . . trying desperately to block out the awful vision of pain and death.
But nothing could drown the shrieks of the flame-shrouded sailor who ran to the gunnel and threw himself into the churning sea. She watched him fall, heard his last cry of fear. And as the waves swallowed his body, the. name on the side of the black ship stood out starkly in gold lettering—Osprey.
“Osprey,” Caroline whispered.
Reed drew her back into the fiery deck.
The trapped man groaned. “Help me, Reed. For the love of God, don’t leave me to burn.” Wesley’s voice. She would have known it anywhere.
Again and again, Reed tried to budge the splintered bulk of fallen yards as the fire licked close enough to singe his hair.
“Shoot me,” Wesley cried.
“Caroline!” Garrett’s plea came from far away. Tears were running down Reed’s face. He cradled Wesley’s head in his lap and reached for the knife at his waist.
Caroline whimpered, “No.”
Then the deck of the Osprey tilted. The ship moaned, a terrible sound of cracking ribs and snapping planks followed by the roar of sucking water. Waves rolled over the gunnel. Reed made another frantic attempt to move the heavy mast off Wesley’s legs. The water rose as the ship began to slide sideways. With a last glance at Wesley, Reed rushed to the rail and dived overboard.
The ship rolled and went under. Down, down, down, into the dark water it tumbled, until with a grinding groan, it settled into the black mud of the Delaware Bay.
Caroline tossed her head. She was no longer staring at the death throes of a ship beneath the waves. The dark, cold water had been replaced by the tranquillity of the brick-walled family cemetery at Fortune’s Gift.
A freshly carved wooden grave marker stood near her father’s resting place. Caroline could easily read the epithet:
REED KINCAID TALBOT
1755-1778
“No!” Caroline cried. Pain surged through her breast and the pounding in her head became an agony. Blackness whirled around her, and then the pain was gone and she felt only peace.
Garrett caught her as she went limp. “Caroline!” Gathering her in his arms, he took several steps toward her cabin before she stirred.
“Please,” she murmured. “Let me . . .”
“Shh, you’re ill.”
“No.” She struggled against him, trying to right herself in this time and place. “Please. This has happened before. I’m all right. Put me down.”
Cautiously, he lowered her feet to the deck, steadying her with his arm. “You fainted,” he said.
“No.” She shook her head. “I never faint.” She could not rid her mind of the sight of Reed’s grave. Was he dead and buried already? She never knew whether her visions were past or future.
Past, present, future . . . were they so far from each other? And what was real? The Kaatje or the sinking of the Osprey? Or both?
“You must be fevered,” he said. “You must see a physician. I’ll call Captain—”
“No. You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s not an illness. It is the curse and blessing of the women of Fortune’s Gift.” She stared into his eyes. “I have the sight, Garrett,” she whispered. She felt a knife of pain twist in her chest again. “It is a matter I neglected to mention,” she said softly. “You are married to a witch.”