Chapter Fourteen

 

Strange, the things you notice at a time like this, Rosalyn mused, fighting her way back to consciousness. There was the oddest hairline crack in the high plastered ceiling in her bedroom. The quiet swish of a fan was the only sound in the room. It seemed ironic, that the doctor had come to treat her swoon so promptly, when a simple woman-child agonizing in labor in a dirty sugar cane field had lain unattended. Sugar cane trash, left over from the milling process, received better attention! What kind of world is this? she grieved. Certainly no paradise, despite the haunting beauty that surrounded her everywhere on the island.

Content to remain inert on her coverlet all afternoon, she conceded that her life had become complicated, indeed, since leaving Boston. It did cross her mind that perhaps she had been a trifle rash in abandoning her friends back home. Not that it made any difference. She could do little to alter her course now, and her sympathies, though emotionally costly, counted for nothing.

But she couldn’t turn back as if none of this mattered, and settle for a life of complacency. Having rebelled against her father’s unfeeling treatment, she now saw a strong correlation between her desire to break free and choose her own destiny, and these abused slaves, who obviously knew a great deal more than she did about injustice. Their suffering made her problems pale by comparison.

Suddenly hearing male voices in the downstairs vestibule, Rosalyn arose, still shaky, and with the maid’s assistance, donned a simple black dress. She pulled her hair back quickly, securing it in a thick bun at the nape of her neck. Her mirror told her that neither the dress nor her ashen face was flattering, and for once she didn’t care, for they matched her mood perfectly. If Grant was downstairs, she must seek him out and demand that he take her back to the ship at once. The Sanfords and their hypocrisy were insufferable!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grant’s day had been a trying one, too, spoiled when Tom Sanford brought up Rosalyn’s merits as a prospective bride—for Tom, of course. Certainly not for himself! Right off, he saw clearly that Sanford coveted the wealth he supposed Rosalyn would bring to the marriage, even more than her beauty. Somehow Tom was laboring under the delusion that, having been married to his Old Man, Rosalyn had already been broken in to married life. Although Grant didn’t feel it was any of his business to dispel such notions regarding the fair Rosalyn, he thought he knew her well enough to believe that marriage was the farthest thing from her mind.

And although it would have taken Rosalyn off his hands, he had serious reasons for opposing the match. Rosalyn’s share of the Fair Winds would automatically pass to her husband upon her marriage. Should Tom prove persuasive enough to win her hand, her marriage could force Grant’s business to be inextricably connected with slavery, a system he frankly abhorred.

Thus, for his own sake as much as for hers, he had made arrangements to wrap up his business in Jamaica as rapidly as possible, before Tom Sanford could press his suit.

Now he saw her frightened eyes and pallor as she came down the staircase on slightly wobbly legs.

“Captain,” she said in a choked whisper, “I must speak with you...alone.”

Sensing that something was seriously wrong, Grant turned abruptly to Sanford. “Excuse me, Tom. Duty calls.”

Pulling Rosalyn into a small sitting room, he closed the door, sat her down and took her hands in his own. “What’s the matter, Rosalyn?” he asked. “You look ill.”

“Oh, Grant,” she burst out. “I need to get out of here! Please take me back to the ship.”

“I can’t right now. Haven’t time to humor you. Come on, Rosalyn!” he said impatiently. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I j-just can’t stay here any longer.” She dissolved into tears, and Grant, though used to her temper, found himself at a disadvantage dealing with female hysterics. As she began blubbering against his shirt front, sobbing wildly, he gave her a shake, hoping to bring her out of it. Eventually she calmed down enough to look him in the eye.

“Do you have any smelling salts?” he demanded. “Hartshorn?” When she shook her head, he swore under his breath. “All right, out with it, Rosalyn. What happened?”

“I toured the plantation with Mr. Sanford, and I helped deliver a slave’s b-baby, and—” She gulped. “Oh, Grant, I can’t stand the way the slaves are being treated!”

A wave of relief swept over him. At least she hadn’t been molested, he thought, handing over his handkerchief. “Here, blow your nose.” She honked and then looking truly tragic, her lower lip quivering like a child’s, she tried to hand it back to him. He shook his head with a rueful smile. “It’s yours now, Rosalyn. Keep it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, dejectedly hanging her head. “It’s just that I can’t stand the thought of spending another minute under the Sanfords’ roof.”

“It’s easy to see you haven’t had the most pleasant time of it. But you can’t run and hide, just because you don’t approve of the way somebody else does things.”

She managed a scowl, which he took as a sign of impending recovery.

“I should have known you’d be no help!” she said.

To keep from throttling her, Grant raked both hands through his hair. What did she expect from him anyway? “Listen, Rosalyn,” he said earnestly. “There’s injustice all over the world. I wish things were different, but they’re not.”

“I know that.” She gave a sad little hiccup.

“So what are you going to do about it?” He raised his eyebrows and waited. Let her solve her own damn problems! he decided.

“What can I do?” Rosalyn asked, looking up at him helplessly.

“By the Almighty!” he swore impatiently. “I was hoping you’d say, ‘Survive.’ Fight, damn it! Don’t let life beat you down.”

“Oh.” She sat there, chewing her lip, trying to assimilate what he was trying to tell her.

Grant hunkered down in front of her. He grabbed her hands and grinned cajolingly at her. “I have good news, if you’re ready to listen.”

That made her perk up a little. “Are...are we going to leave here soon?”

“Aye, soon enough,” he said. “I’ve traded our cargo for two hundred and fifty hogsheads of sugar and seventy of rum.”

She eyed him disapprovingly. “You made a trade with the Sanfords?”

“No, with Bob Andrew’s neighbor, McManahan. He’s the overseer for an absentee landowner who lives in London. We start loading tomorrow. If you want, I can take you along to watch,” he offered.

She hesitated. “Maybe I should wait for Mercy.”

“Why? You’ll see her soon enough.”

“When?” She glanced suspiciously at him, remembering his role in Mercy’s downfall.

“Soon. We can stay at McManahan’s place tomorrow night, and then return to the ship the following day,” he said, hoping to tempt her.

He looked so handsome in his fawn breeches and blue waistcoat, so in charge of their mutual interests. And as upsetting as her day had been, Rosalyn wished she could bury her head against his big, brawny shoulder and let him take charge of her as well, just for a little while.

But appearances could be deceiving, she reminded herself. He was a rogue, and by all indications, the town stallion, too! She shook her head, rejecting his suggestion. “I’d better not. Not without a chaperone,” she said, staring down at their clasped hands.

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I guess it all depends on how badly you want to get away from here. You’re a grown woman, Rosalyn. Make up your mind.”

He stood up, awaiting her decision. The keen glint in his tawny eyes reminded her again what a rogue pirate he was. Why should she trust him? A leopard didn’t change his spots. Looking through her eyelashes at his lean body, so supple and muscular, Rosalyn swallowed hard at the prospect of spending tomorrow alone with him.

“Well?” he demanded. Never had he met such an exasperating woman! “You can trust me, Rosalyn,” he said, his smile taunting her. “Or maybe you don’t trust yourself.”

“That’s not what I was thinking!” she snapped, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“Look,” he proposed, “What if I spend tomorrow night at Bob Andrews’ house? That would leave just you, the McManahans, their children, and a few servants. How does that sound?”

In her widow’s black and with her severely drawn-back hair, Rosalyn knew Grant wouldn’t take advantage of a prim looking colonial spinster, when Jamaica was full of wicked women. Her mind now made up, she nodded in assent. “I’ll go.”

“Good.” He dragged her to her feet. “Now, a bit of advice: Keep your violent dislike of our host and hostess to yourself, sweetheart, or I may have to muzzle you. I’d like this to be a tolerably cordial evening.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Shimmering in the moonlight, the water was warm as Mercy joined Charles in the emerald sea. After last night she felt totally reckless and abandoned. Still deliriously happy after their lovemaking, they had spent the day exploring lonely windswept beaches together. Gently lapping tongues of water caressed her thighs. reviving fresh desires, as slowly she waded to where Charles knelt in the shallows, waiting for her.

It had been a long time since she had found such sweet release. When Charles reached out and touched her breasts, her head fell back, as she gave herself over to the sheer ecstasy in the increasing demand of his touch. He was a gentle lover, but when she pressed closer to pleasure him and take her own pleasure, he also knew how to use his strength to arouse her to her deepest expression of need.

In the moonlight the sight of her soft curves made him want her again. Praising her body, his lips teased her nipples, and suddenly she felt the urgent flush of desire between her legs and her need for him intensified. He ran his hands over her trim waist and voluptuous hips, trailing his fingertips over her stomach. He lowered his head and covered her abdomen with butterfly kisses, before moving lower to savor her moist well. She moaned with pleasure as his hot exploring kisses nudged her into torrid surrender, and she sank down into the water, allowing him to plunge into her pulsating depths. Clasping his head to her breast, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer as they moved together, deeper, harder, reveling in the throbbing wildness of their sexual union.

The water churned violently around them as their bodies joined in an instinctual rhythm, and they were caught up in paroxysms of exquisite fulfillment. Later, they floated back in to shore and lay back in delicious exhaustion on the white sand. . .

Charles lay with his arms around Mercy and one leg over hers, nuzzling her neck. “I...love...you, Mercy!” he gasped.

“Charles, you make me feel so wonderful!” Her eyes shining, she snuggled to his chest, her breasts brushing softly against his small, hard nipples.

“You’re not the first woman I’ve had,” he confessed shyly.

“I was married once.” Mercy watched him intently. She already suspected she was more experienced than Charles, so she didn’t mention the other men she’d had in her life. She knew that few men were as understanding of a woman’s indiscretions as they were of their own.

“After loving you, I want no other woman,” he burst out passionately. “Mercy, I want you for my wife.”

“You’re a good man, Charles,” she acknowledged. “I would be honored to be your wife.”

His arms tightened around her, and he gave her a long, possessive kiss. “Good! I’m glad that’s settled.”

“Aye, it’s settled, except for the date.” Mercy smiled, her eyes glowing with happiness.

“We could get married right away,” he suggested. “I’ve already spoken to the Captain.”

“Without asking me first?” She raised up and nibbled his ear lobe.

“You’re not angry, are you, Mercy? It’s just that I love you so much!”

She laughed softly, for here was a man apologizing for wanting to make an honest woman of her! She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she met a man with such honorable intentions. “I’m flattered, Charles,” she said. “Still, it does seem a bit hasty. Think how crowded it would be on board.”

“You could keep your trunk where it is and share my bunk. It’s not big, but we can make do. It would be private at least.” His eyes twinkled brightly. “Being as how I’m a carpenter, I could probably lay my hands on some spare lumber and build us a right cozy bed for two!”

“I admire your enterprising spirit, dear Charles,” she smiled.

“Then you’ll say yes?” He almost whooped for joy.

“I’ll say 'yes' for now to sharing your bed,” she said. “And when we get to England, we’ll have a proper stand-up wedding.”

He shook his head impatiently. “I’d rather tie the knot now.”

“Oh, Charles, don’t spoil it! I love you and want to marry you, truly I do,” Mercy hastened to reassure him. “It’s just that . . .well, I would like to invite my folks.”

“Well, as long as you promise—”

“I promise, I promise, I promise!”

And she kissed him pertly on his— Well, she kissed him in several places. More than once. And before she could squeal and wriggle away, he was on top of her again, sealing her promise with his own fervent brand of love.