The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming.
LORD BYRON, STANZAS FOR MUSIC
“Are you okay, mister?”
The child’s words were but a whisper against Black Heart’s ear. Too many years had passed since he’d wakened to something so sweet, and the voice of the little girl he’d seen earlier pleased him more than fair winds ruffling the sails on Satan’s Revenge or the lap of gentle waves against her hull.
“Can you hear me?”
Aye, he tried to say, but his mouth was much too dry for speech to come. It seemed as if he’d swallowed half the sand his face was resting in. Opening his eyes proved an impossibility, too, and the mere thought of nodding his head brought back the pain, as strong and relentless as the hurricane that had attempted to take his life.
“Wake up, mister.”
He managed to groan, a horrendous, guttural noise that to his ears sounded like the wail of a cow.
“Did you say something?” the child asked. He could feel her warm breath against his cheek, her tiny fingers lightly prodding his shoulder. She was a brave bit of a thing to come so close, especially when she imagined him to be a man who ate babies for breakfast.
“Are you dead?”
“I’m…not…quite…sure,” he mumbled. With great effort he rolled over on the rocky floor, and somehow he worked open the eyelid that wasn’t covered with a patch. Blond ringlets bounced before his nose, and two frowning blue eyes studied his scar.
“Are you a pirate?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he asked, “Are you a castaway?”
“No. I’m Casey Cameron. But you didn’t answer my question. Are you a pirate?”
“Aye.” The word slipped from his lips with no thought of their consequence. He should have answered, “Nay,” and told her some far-fetched story, but it was too late now.
Her eyes widened, followed by her smile. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered, and then her voice rose with excitement. “I knew it! Mommy’s never going to believe this. Not in a million years.”
She started to run.
Bloody hell! He had to stop her before she brought back her mother and any others who might be on the island with thoughts of collecting the bounty on his head. He jerked up, and the dizziness once more overwhelmed him.
“Wait,” he called out to her, his voice just as unsteady as his body, his throat as scratchy as the sand embedded in his skin.
The child stopped in the doorway and twisted around. “I’ll be right back.” But she didn’t leave. Instead, she frowned, her gaze traveling to the cutlass lying on the floor, then upward, pausing just long enough to study the pistol and dagger tucked under his belt.
She bit the corner of her lip, then met him eye to eye. “You are real, aren’t you?”
“Aye.”
The angelic smile returned to her face. “Then don’t go anywhere. Please.”
She disappeared into the sunlight outside, and for one brief moment, he contemplated honoring her plea. But he couldn’t stick around—not for her, not for anyone. Hiding was a way of life, one he practiced well.
Drawing in a deep breath, he struggled to stand. The room spun around him as if he’d been on a week-long drunk and was just now regaining his senses.
With a faltering sweep of his hand, he retrieved his cutlass from the ground, shoved it into its scabbard, and willed himself to move.
One foot dragged across the sand, and then the next. He was gasping for breath by the time he reached the doorway, and for just an instant, he rested his cheek against the craggy stone wall. Then he pushed on, forcing himself to go faster, skirting the palms that rustled in the waning wind.
The storm had calmed, but it had left its mark upon the land, making it even more difficult for him to maneuver. He trudged through puddles of water and over uprooted trees and finally collapsed behind a pile of storm-tossed vegetation that had mounded against a tall drift of sand.
A cool breeze brought some relief from the heat and humidity of the day, and carried with it the child’s voice. She was close. Much too close. How could he possibly have run toward her—when he’d meant to run away?
“I knew he’d come, Mommy. I knew it!”
“Calm down, Case. What are you talking about?”
“The pirate. When I said my prayers last night, I asked God to send me a pirate—and He did.”
Ah, the woman’s laughter again. If only he could capture that sound as it drifted through the air, and keep it with him always.
“It’s not funny, Mommy. He’s not funny, either.”
“Is he mean?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s not the kind of pirate I wanted.”
“You had something specific in mind?” the woman asked.
“Well, I wanted a nice-looking pirate. One you might like, but this one’s ugly. Really big and really ugly, and he has a big red scar down the whole side of his face. I guess that means he must be mean.”
“You can’t always judge someone by his appearance. It’s what’s inside that counts.”
“Oh, I know all that. But if you saw this guy, you’d probably be really scared.”
“Were you afraid of him?”
“Heck, no. I think he was asleep, and when I touched him, he just sort of grunted, then he kept saying, ‘Aye’…‘Aye,’ you know, like real pirates say.”
The woman was silent for too long a time. He imagined her eyes scanning the island, looking for an evil buccaneer, wringing her hands in dismay, anxiously hoping that her own man would soon return.
And then her sweet, melodious voice touched his ears again.
“You’re sure you didn’t imagine the pirate, Case?”
“No, Mommy, you’ve got to believe me.”
He remembered the child’s words. Mommy’s never going to believe this. Not in a million years. He wondered why his presence should seem such an impossibility, when a multitude of brigands roamed up and down this coast.
Then a thought crossed his mind. Perhaps they’d been in search of a pirate, desperately needing to collect the bounty on his head. It seemed a foolhardy venture for a woman and child, but the price for capturing Black Heart was enough to tempt anyone.
Claiming the reward, however, would prove most difficult. As soon as nightfall came, he’d find a way to escape the island. Until then, he’d rest quietly on the dune, and listen to the woman, the child, and keep an ear out for others.
“Tell me more about the pirate, Case. Did he have a peg leg?”
“No, just a patch. I bet he doesn’t even have an eye behind it. Somebody probably cut it out when they were fighting.”
A laugh rumbled deep in Black Heart’s chest as he reached under the patch and rubbed his right eye. Perfectly intact, just as it had always been. He readjusted the piece of black satin he’d worn—or not worn—to confuse his pursuers, then traced his index finger lightly down the length of the scar that ran from the outer corner of his right eye, over his cheek, and curled just under his lower lip. It wasn’t all that big and it wasn’t all that ugly, simply a razor-fine slice left by the tip of a very sharp blade.
Thomas Low’s blade. Damn him to hell! The blackguard hadn’t been satisfied with carving a deep scar on his soul; he’d maimed his body, too.
He shoved memories of Low away. He was confused enough by what he’d found on his island without clouding his thoughts with the deeds of that murderer. There were other things to think of now—like the unprotected woman and child, and the possibility that there might be others stalking the island, looking for him.
Climbing to the top of the sand dune, he caught sight of the curly-haired child.
And the woman.
She was on her knees in the sand, her hands on the child’s shoulders. Behind her was the sleekest sailing vessel he’d ever seen, lying like a beached whale on the shore.
The ship was finely built, but it was the woman who caught his fancy. She was far and away the most winsome female who’d ever come into his line of vision. Definitely a woman to be gazed upon with two good eyes, he decided, flipping up his patch.
He imagined her age to be close to a score and four, perhaps as much as a score and six. She had the creamy skin of a girl not long out of the nursery, but the lusciously rounded body of a goddess—Tethys, maybe, the beautiful queen of the seas, the titaness he’d often asked to protect him as he and Satan’s Revenge sailed the oceans.
Bloody hell! She was not a goddess, she was merely a woman, a petite bit of perfection who’d have to stand on her toes just so the top of her head could reach his chin.
A woman who could easily tempt a man to wish for a wife, and babes, and a permanent home, if he was foolish enough to contemplate leaving the sea.
A thought that would never cross his own mind.
“We have to go to him, Mommy,” the child cried, tearing Black Heart’s attention away from sentimental thoughts, and turning it back again to the child, and the beautiful woman shaking her head quite adamantly.
The child shoved her fists into her hips. “But he could be dying.”
“He could be dangerous, too,” the woman stated flatly. “No, Case, we’re better off staying here in the open. That way we can keep an eye out for him.”
“You don’t believe there’s a pirate, do you?” the child asked. “Daddy would have believed me.”
The woman turned her head, looking out to sea. “Daddy was a dreamer, Case. He believed in a lot of things….” Her words drifted away, just as the child drifted from her touch.
“I wish Daddy was here. I would have prayed for him to come instead of a pirate, but I’ve tried before and it doesn’t work.”
The woman reached out to touch the child, but she jerked away. He could sense the woman’s hurt, the rejection she felt, as she looked at the back of her daughter’s head. God knows he’d seen his own mother look that way many a time.
In spite of her daughter’s withdrawal, the woman approached her again, wrapped her arms around the girl, and rested her cheek against her curls.
“Daddy’s not coming back,” she said gently. “As much as we want him to, he can’t. It’s just you and me, Case.”
He watched a tender smile transform her face from sad to wistful. “If Daddy were here….” Even from the distance he could hear her sigh. “If Daddy were here, the blasted boat wouldn’t be lying on the beach and we’d be home by now.”
Slowly the woman ran her fingers down her daughter’s sides, and with a sudden change of mood, she tickled her waist. She laughed as the little girl erupted into giggles.
For long minutes they chased each other around the beach, and as Black Heart watched their gaiety, he sensed they were alone, that there were no men on the island. He could easily make himself known to them, but then he’d no longer be able to watch their play, and it did his heart good to know that there was still great happiness in the world he’d abandoned.
He watched while they scampered through the water, kicking at waves, diving into their depths, then coming out at last to lie on the beach.
“Do you think we’re going to be stranded here forever?” the child asked. “Like Robinson Crusoe?”
“Of course not. The storm just shoved the boat a little too far up on the sand, but as soon as the tide comes back in, we should be able to get it back out to sea.”
The child looked inland, toward Black Heart’s stronghold. “My pirate might help, if we ask him nicely.”
Frowning, Casey’s mother sighed as she looked toward the center of the island. He imagined she was wondering how much truth there was to her daughter’s words about a pirate being in the fortress. She scanned the groves of palm and the deserted beach, and her gaze swept right over the dune where he hid. Finally she turned back to the child.
“Pirates aren’t very trustworthy, Case. I know how much you’d like to have one for a friend, but this time I think we’d better take care of ourselves, and right now that means we try pushing the boat.”
The woman shoved up from the ground, brushed sand from her hands, and moved gracefully toward the vessel. She was a beauty, parading about in only that bright blue corset and some sort of pantaloon. Her slender thighs, her rounded hips, and her blessed bottom swayed when she walked, and when she applied that part of her anatomy to the side of the boat and pushed, her glorious breasts nearly spilled from the small bit of fabric she was wearing.
Ah, but she made his body ache.
“Come on, Case,” the woman pleaded to the child who stubbornly sat on the beach. “I really do need your help.”
Black Heart could hear the child’s frustrated sigh all the way across the beach, sounding so much like his own beloved sister who’d often sighed when she couldn’t have what she wanted.
The old familiar pain stabbed at his heart. God, how he missed Melody’s little-girl giggles, her bouncing black curls, the way dimples formed at the corners of her lips when she smiled.
He’d never see those smiles again. Never hear her laughter, or wrap a curl around his finger as he bounced her on his knee.
He’d never again hear her say, “I love you.”
Thomas Low would pay for what he’d done, but, bloody hell, he could do nothing until he got off this island.
He looked at the boat the woman was struggling to move. ’Twas just what he needed in order to find Satan’s Revenge, and it appeared it was not going to leave the island until the tide came in. ’Twould be nearly impossible, even then, for the woman to get the boat off the sand. ’Twould be difficult enough for him, but he’d deal with that problem when darkness fell and the ocean rolled high on the beach. The woman and child would be asleep by then, and he would take the boat unbeknownst to either of them.
An ounce of guilt tugged at his heart. Perhaps he should take them with him, but he had more important matters to concern himself with now, and he didn’t need either of them in his way—or under his skin. He had no doubt that they’d be safe on the island and, being a gentleman by nature, he would send someone back to rescue them.
Sliding down on the dune, he banished the woman and child from his thoughts. With the blazing sun beating down on him, he rested his dizzy head on palm fronds and cypress branches, and allowed just one thought to consume his mind—revenge.
Soon even thoughts of Thomas Low left him, and once again he slept.
Kate pressed her back to the hull and attempted to shove the boat at least one miserable inch through the sand, but it wouldn’t budge. “Damn!”
“You swear too much,” Casey admonished, peeking over the side of the boat. “Aunt Evalena says—”
“Aunt Evalena says a lot of things,” Kate interrupted, “and she’s going to say a whole lot more if we don’t get home soon.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t leave a sailing plan.”
“Why?”
“Because the weather report was good. Because I didn’t expect a hurricane to come up out of nowhere, and because I didn’t want Evie or Aunt Nikki to know we were going to the island.”
“Why?”
Kate smiled at Casey’s one-word refrain. “They don’t believe there’s treasure here, and they’ll think I’ve lost my mind if they find out I went hunting for something that might not exist.”
“But it does exist. And when we find it, we’ll be rich; then you won’t have to take care of all those other kids anymore.”
Casey jumped down to the sand and skipped to the water’s edge before Kate could remind her that treasure or no treasure, she wasn’t about to give up her day care center. She loved taking care of a house full of kids. They made her happy. She’d wanted half a dozen of her own, children she could love the way she’d wished her own parents had loved her, but she and Joe had been blessed with only Casey.
Maybe if he’d lived longer…
She let that thought drift away. She doubted that anything would have changed if Joe had lived longer. They might have had more children eventually, but he’d still be fun-loving Joe, the boy who didn’t want to grow up. She’d still love him, of course. It was impossible not to. But she had no doubts that he’d still be searching for treasure, he’d still be obsessed with pirates, and he’d still be spending money as if they’d had it to burn.
She collapsed against the eighteen-foot sailboat that Joe never should have bought, and gazed at the storm-ravaged island—one more of Joe’s impractical and expensive whims.
Joe was a doting father, a decorated cop, but he’d spent a portion of every paycheck buying things they didn’t need, like the crossed swords he’d hung over the mantel in the living room, the eighteenth-century pistols he polished monthly and kept in a locked cabinet in his office, and the leather chest that rested at the end of their bed. It had once held a bounty of pirate treasure, or so Joe had told her. “We can’t afford it,” was all she had said, but he’d only laughed. “There’s always money if you want something badly enough.”
She remembered so well the call from the antique store the day after Joe’s funeral. “We’re sorry to bother you, Mrs. Cameron, but Joe was here the other night. He bought a trunk and said he’d pick it up later. We’d like you to have it. We’d like you to have the money back, too. It’s the least we could do, considering….”
Joe had wanted that trunk so badly it had cost him his life. Now, instead of giving him pleasure, it held some of the things Kate treasured most—the uniforms Joe would never wear again, his medal for bravery, and the badge he’d honored.
If Joe had listened to her when she’d said they couldn’t afford it, he wouldn’t have been in the antique store. He wouldn’t have walked outside just in time to see the kid robbing the convenience store. He wouldn’t have been blown away by a sawed-off shotgun.
And Nikki wouldn’t have suffered so much remorse for emptying an entire barrel into the chest of the seventeen-year-old boy who’d murdered her brother.
Kate had forgotten all about the treasure after that night. She had a daughter to support, a home to take care of, and fanciful thoughts about pirates and buried treasure were the last thing on her mind.
But last night Joe had come to her in a dream. He’d told her to go to the island. “The treasure’s there. I know it, Kate. Please, baby. Go and find it.”
She’d listened to him because even in sleep, she’d seen the sparkle in his eyes, and it brought back so many memories, like the way his face had beamed the first time they’d sailed to the island. “Black Heart used to live here,” he’d said, speaking the pirate’s name almost reverently. “Remember me telling you about him? He disappeared in a freak summer storm.”
Kate laughed, wondering if that freak summer storm had been anything like the one she and Casey had just survived.
“What are you thinking about, Mommy?”
Casey’s voice brought Kate back to the present, and she turned to the little girl who was a dreamer—just like her dad. “I was thinking how much your father would have enjoyed this adventure.”
“He wouldn’t have wasted so much time trying to get the boat back into the water when he could have been spending time with a pirate.”
“No, I suppose he wouldn’t. In fact, I don’t want to spend any more time worrying about the boat, either.”
“Then can we look for the pirate?”
Casey’s eyes brightened when Kate nodded.
This would be the third imaginary pirate in her life. The first one she’d named Mr. Bones, the second she had called Captain Jack. They’d kept her company after Joe had died. They’d had make-believe sword fights with her in the living room and helped her dig for buried treasure in the backyard. Kate had never discouraged Casey’s imaginative streak, and it was time to give in to it once again.
There was nothing else to do on the island—so they might as well have fun.
“So, Case, where do you think we’ll find your pirate?”
“In the fortress.”
“Great. Wanna race?”
A wide smile crossed Casey’s face. “Yeah!”
“Last one to the fortress is a rotten egg.” Kate sprinted away from the boat, listening to Casey’s giggles as she ran close behind. They dashed across the beach, past an immense pile of palm fronds and cypress boughs that had blown against a sand dune, and jumped over puddles of water left from the storm. They laughed, as if the hurricane had never occurred, as if they had nothing at all to worry about.
Blocking Casey’s way when they reached the entrance to the ancient island stronghold, Kate bent over, hands on knees, and took a long, deep breath. “Okay, Case. Let’s not rush. He might still be inside.”
She took Casey’s hand and together they crept into the cavernous fortress.
“This way,” Casey whispered, tugging Kate through the maze of empty rooms.
The light breeze whistled through holes and cracks, making the place seem eerier than it was. She tried to imagine the stronghold as it had looked hundreds of years before, with a pirate captain leaning against the wall and half a dozen of his crew standing about swilling rum and stout, while buxom wenches swirled their skirts and touted their wares.
Casey’s pull on her hand tore her from her imaginings.
“He’s just around the corner,” she said, and Kate suddenly began to believe Casey’s pirate might really exist.
Kate stilled her daughter and put a silencing finger to her lips.
Gripping Casey’s arms, they cautiously peered around the opening and into…an empty room.
Under her fingers, Kate could feel the sag of her daughter’s shoulders, her disappointment. In her own heart, she too felt a nagging sense of defeat.
“He’s gone, Mommy. I told you we should have come earlier.”
Maybe they should have, but it was too late now.
“I doubt he’s gone far, Case. There’s no way off the island, except in our boat, and it’s not going anywhere.”
“Do you think we’ll see him tomorrow?”
“I don’t know about you, but after the stories you told me, I’m bound to have nightmares about him tonight.”
Casey finally laughed. “Did I tell you he had rings in both ears? Did I tell you about his cutlass?”
A picture of Casey’s pirate was beginning to form in Kate’s mind, and she definitely wasn’t seeing Errol Flynn.
“I think you told me everything about him except his name. Do you think it might be Black Heart, the pirate who used to live here?”
Casey’s lips twitched back and forth as she thought. “He didn’t look at all like the pictures in Daddy’s books.”
“Those sketches aren’t very good, Case. They’re old, and they were usually drawn from someone’s imagination, or from what they’d heard about a person.”
“Well, if it is Black Heart, do you think he might be watching us, waiting for us to fall asleep, so he can snatch us up and take us prisoner?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”
“But that’s what pirates do, Mommy.” Casey poked her head through the gap of a window that looked out on the approaching darkness.
“Do you think his pirate ship might be off shore somewhere?”
Kate walked across the room, curling her arms around her daughter, giving her comfort, seeking the same for herself.
“What do you think your father’s answer to that question would have been?”
Looking up with a smile on her face, Casey cleared her throat, and said in a voice much lower than Joe’s had ever been, “Well, Casey, if there’s a pirate ship off shore, I guess it’s our lucky day. Maybe we can thumb a ride back to St. Augustine.”
Casey giggled, and warmth radiated through Kate for her daughter, for the man they both had loved.
God, how she missed him.
Throwing her arms around her mother’s neck, Casey pressed a hard, loving kiss on her cheek. “I’m going to sleep,” she said in a rush of words. “I’m gonna dream about pirates,” she added, skipping out of the room, happily singing “Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”
With all her heart, Kate wished that a pirate—a good pirate, she amended—would walk into the fortress and make Casey’s dreams come true. As for her own dreams, she had let them die right along with Joe. Now she was beginning to want them back.
The caw of a bird turned her attention outside, to the sounds of the night. Wings fluttered overhead as island birds stole from tree to tree. In the distance she could hear the gentle lap of waves on the beach, and the crackle and snap of fallen brush, as if some night creature were stirring from its daytime abode.
Could it possibly be a man? she wondered. Casey’s pirate? No, that was impossible. She’d just allowed her imagination to run wild. Even now she was seeing fairies dancing across the cobbled floor, when it was only the rays of the rising moon glinting through the window. And the ring poking through the sand was only….
She moved toward the emerald glow and knelt so the moonlight could still illuminate her find. Calmly, deliberately, she scooped her fingers underneath a band of gold and shimmering jewels, and let the sand sift away.
“Oh, my God.”
A long, slender chain of golden links slid over her hand and dropped to the floor, but the ring settled in the center of her palm, staring up at her in all its glory. The emerald, if that’s what the radiant green stone really was, had to be nearly the size of a dime. It was set in a wide band of filigreed gold, with a trio of diamonds glittering like luminous stars at either side.
It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen, and certainly the most wonderful—and valuable—she’d ever touched. Could it possibly be real, and not just a piece of costume jewelry someone had once left behind on the island?
She slid the ring on her finger, covering the tan line where, until a few days ago, she’d worn a simple gold wedding band. It seemed sinful to put another ring on that finger, when Joe’s ring had meant the world to her. But this new ring fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for her.
She looked about her, for some odd reason afraid that someone might be watching. Afraid that she’d just fallen in love with a ring that rightfully belonged to someone else. No one was around, though. No one watched her. As far as she knew, the ring had been buried under the sand in this fortress for hundreds of years, a treasure waiting to be found.
Perhaps it was the treasure Joe had sent her to find.
A lone tear slid down her face. With all her heart she wished Joe had been the one to find it.
Wiping the tear away, she swept the chain from the sand, studying the intricacy of the links, and the break where the unending circle of gold had torn apart. It looked like so many of the antique pieces of jewelry Joe had purchased, only this wasn’t dull from over a hundred years of wear. Instead, it sparkled like new.
Were there more pieces buried beneath the stones?
Slipping the ring from her finger, she tucked it and the chain into the pocket of her shorts and went in search of other treasure. She carefully brushed sand away from the cobbles, digging her fingers between the cracks, hoping the moonlight would stay with her a little while longer.
Wouldn’t Casey be thrilled to know the treasure her father had always talked about was right under their noses?
She pulled one of the stones up from the floor, but there was only sand beneath it. She dug deeper. Still nothing.
She tore up another stone, and another, until the moonlight ceased to shine on the spot where she’d found the first of the treasure, but there were no more rings, no more chains.
Crawling to the last bit of floor that was still lit by moonbeams, she started to dig, but her fingers came to a sudden stop.
A footprint seemed to rise up from the sand.
The heavy impression of a man’s boot. There was no mistaking the heel, the rounded toe. Or the size.
Oh, God!
Another print rested beside it, and another at a different angle. She turned and saw the remains of another print—one that she’d crawled through. Even in the darkness, she could see more prints crossing to the door, some appearing as if the man had stumbled and dragged his feet across the floor.
She felt her heart begin to beat hard inside her chest. Faster. Faster.
She stood, jerking quickly to look out the window, then back once more to the floor. Her body trembled, goosebumps rose on her arms, and slowly she put her bare foot inside one of the prints.
So large. So very, very large.
Her lips quivered as she again looked out into the dark. Night had crept in far too fast.
And someone—a stranger—was on the island.