Captive Embraces (50 page)

His arms tightened about her, drawing her to him, pressing her close. Camilla offered herself to him, reveling in his embrace, feeling his love nourish her soul. There would never be another man for her. Only Tyler. Always Tyler.

 

Sirena leaned against the quarterdeck rail, watching her crew lay in stores. Regan had calculated that the journey to the Caribbean would take roughly fifty days, providing they were lucky and caught the easterlies. Jacobus was directing Jan where to put the crates of live chickens they would need for their voyage and the pig for a change of diet. Salted meat and grains were hauled on board by the sackful, along with numerous casks of fresh water in which a limestone had been dropped to keep it sweet.

As Sirena surveyed all the activity going on around her, she scowled. Regan, who was testing the rigging and had jumped the last few feet to the deck, observed her. “What's troubling you, Sirena? Have you thought of something we've forgotten?”

Sirena looked up distractedly. “I was just wondering when Blackheart found the time to lay in the stores needed to make a journey of this length. Even calculating the time from when he left, doesn't it seem like a terribly long way to go just to avenge himself on me?”

Regan's eyes widened. “I should have thought of it myself. I see what you mean. Where are your charts?”

“In the cabin,” Sirena said, starting for the sterncastle.

Regan peered over the charts. “Pelee,” he murmured, drawing lines and calculating routes. “It's just as you suspected, Sirena. The quickest way to Pelee is along this route; all the others go round about the Caribbean Isles. Blackheart knows we wouldn't waste time weaving in and out of these islands, so he's pretty certain of which course we would take. Even if he miscalculated us, he'd still catch up to us in Pelee.”

Sirena was excited. “And knowing our course, he could come up behind us while we're at sea! Blackheart never meant to sail all the way to the Caribbean to pay a debt owed.”

“That's right. Unless I miss my guess, he'll be waiting for us right here,” the point of his quill stabbed the map just at the cliffs of Dover. “There's plenty of places to take cover around the western side. We'd sail right out on top of him and never see him until it was too late. That bastard is only four days away, not sixty!”

Suddenly Regan sobered. “Sirena, I don't want you to come with us. Now that we've uncovered his most likely plan, I think the men and myself can handle it.”

“I thought you wanted me to come. That's what you said yesterday in Newgate.”

“I know what I said, but that was because I wanted the best crew available, the best possible seamen, the most courageous fighters. You, Sirena are all those things. I wanted the best and I asked you.” His voice grew gruff, as though embarrassed by admitting these things.

“And have I changed since then? Am I less an able-bodied seaman? Am I not a courageous fighter? Don't say any more, Regan, I go with you.”

“No! You will stay here in London. I've made up my mind and I'll hear no more about it.”

“You seem to forget, Mynheer van der Rhys. This is
my
ship and
I
give the orders. Either I go with you or you find another ship and another crew. That is final.” The heat of her temper blazed in her cheeks and lit her eyes from within. Regan stared down at her and she backed away.

“You also seem to forget that you're a married man!” Before he could say a word in protest, she turned and went out on deck.

 

The evening tide rose with the moon and the
Sea Spirit
's moorings and broadsides groaned with pleasure at her release from the quay. Sirena stood on board, watching Regan take the wheel, guiding her ship down the Thames to its mouth. Regan's hands were firm on the spokes and his eyes peered ahead watching for small craft and buoys marking the channel. The sight of him standing there nearly took her breath away. He handled the ship the way he handled a woman, the way he had handled her, with concentration and a gentle touch.

The moonlight reflected off his hair in a silvery halo. The fine white lawn and billowing sleeves of his shirt fluttered in the breeze, his breeches hugged his firm muscular thighs and the pigskin boots he wore gave him an air of the military. He hasn't changed. Sirena thought. He's as handsome as when I first met him. The expanse of his chest which showed in the gap at the neck of his shirt had whitened from lack of exposure to the sun; but his strong capable hands and his face still held traces of a bronzed tan. He still exuded that healthy strength, that feeling of being at one with the elements.

He had not tried to speak with her since she had stormed out of the cabin that afternoon and she wondered what he had been about to say when she turned her back on him. Perhaps it was time they stopped this game-playing and spoke what was on their minds. To hell with the fact he was married to Camilla. She loved him; she had always loved him; that would never change. She had allowed pride to come between them and she had sworn it would never happen again, but it had and there was no retreating. What mattered was the present, and Sirena didn't want to face possible death without having told him that she loved him still. The past was past and it could only rear its ugly head if they allowed it. Now, with the prospect of meeting Blackheart again, she realized how precious life was and how much the prospect of confronting that scurve frightened her.

She had been pushing it down since Regan had come to Newgate and told her about Caleb. She was frightened of Blackheart. Facing him would be another open confrontation and she didn't think she could defend herself against him. Too much blood had flowed past the tip of her rapier. She didn't know if she could kill again and, with Blackheart, it would come to kill or be killed.

The
Sea Spirit
slid through the dark water and Sirena was looking at London's rooftops against the night sky. She had admitted her worst fears to herself and was better for it.

The hour was late, and when she looked toward the wheel, Willem mastered the ship. The thought of going back to her cabin did not appeal to her. She wanted to see the stars in the sky and feel the breeze on her cheeks. Her feet found their nimble way past the coils of rigging and marine equipment to the bow. The
Sea Spirit
's bowsprit was painted white and reached out over the water as though it were pointing a path to the brightest star. She leaned over the rail and felt the salt tang wet her cheeks, or was it tears? The night was silent and clear as they glided free of London into the wider channel. Suddenly, she was aware of someone behind her. Sirena turned and looked up into his beloved face. His arms came around her, holding her tightly. She pressed her face against the place where his shirt came away and felt his hard chest beneath her lips. She answered his embrace and her love overflowed.

In his embrace she was safe. She could hide behind his strength until her own courage was restored. His arms protected her, sheltered her from the world. His solid virility shielded her from the unknown and became a haven where she could revive her flagging will and brace herself against the terror of things to come.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice warm and gentle.

“I'm afraid,” were the only words she spoke, yet he understood.

He lifted her off her feet and took her to the place where the bowsprit rose out of the scrubbed deck. He sat, leaning against the rail, cradling her as though she were a small child. He did not speak, yet offered her his protection. Long into the night he held her, loving her.

She felt his caring in his touch, in the tender way his lips rested against her brow and in his silent comprehension. She had never loved him more than she did at this moment, when they watched the stars blink at them from the heavens, leading them onward, together.

The Moon made its graceful arc across the sky and Sirena nestled against his chest, feeling as though she were an extension of him. His arms kept her warm, his fingers making tiny, soothing circles on the flesh of her arm. This is the way it feels to be reborn, regenerated; she thought silently. This is where I begin and end, here with Regan. Out there, somewhere, my fate awaits me, but for the moment I am here, with my love, sheltered by his love.

If they slept, she did not know it, and if they moved, she was not aware of it. On through the night he held her, letting his love flow into her, asking for nothing, save her acceptance of him. Giving her all he had to offer. And when the sky began to light he pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “And now, my love, let me tell you about my marriage to Camilla.”

She let him tell her, listening silently. And when he was through, a smile brighter than the new sun upon the glistening waters lit her face and she found her peace.

 

The next two days were an idyll. The crew attended to their chores in quiet respect of Regan and Sirena's newfound love. The days were bright and joyous, a balm to the soul. And the nights were long and silent and they passed them in each other's arms, renewing their passions and feeding their desires. It was their last night wrapped in their snug little world. Tomorrow, dawn, would show them the chalk-white cliffs of Dover and the brutal power of Blackheart.

Regan joined Sirena in their cabin where she was brushing her lustrous black hair. Her arms were lifted to her head, revealing the outline of her proud breasts beneath her nightshirt. The lamp cast its yellow light onto her face, polishing her skin with buff tones of ivory.

He had never known her to be more beautiful. Her features were calm and serene; her eyes were aglow with her love for him. Wordlessly, he took the brush from her hand and smoothed her sable curls with his palm, feeling the silky strands between his fingers and thinking her hair was like the sea itself. Dark and curling and glowing with a light of its own.

When she turned to him it was to offer her lips and body in tribute to their love. There was a hint of desperation in her kiss and the way her arms wound around his neck, as though she would never let him go. Her emotions found an answering response in Regan and his mouth took hers greedily. Unable to satisfy his need for her, Sirena's fears for the future echoed in the core of him.

They were both aware what the confrontation with Blackheart could mean. Death was eternal, a forever loss, and it was looming out there, beyond the world they had created for themselves. Both were aware of the havoc and destruction which threatened their bliss. But they still had tonight and their bodies could comfort and be comforted and their rapture could ease their hearts.

She separated from him and Regan looked down adoringly at her. It was as though he were trying to memorize her features, her lips, her eyes, the classic tilt of her nose. Tenderly they silently agreed to commit this moment to memory, to have it, to cherish it whatever the fates might bring. Their hands reached out for one another, softly touching, sweetly caressing; hair, cheeks, lips. Rediscovering the wonders of each other, those intimate, beautiful differences which made them unique. The turn of a lip, the tilt of an eye, the soft, velvety feel of an earlobe. They were like children discovering a world of glorious wonder.

Tenderly, so tenderly, Regan removed her nightshirt, touching his lips to those soft, mysterious places near the back of her neck and the crease where her arm rested against her breast. His mouth lingered, giving and taking pleasure and love.

Her hands sought the skin of his back beneath his shirt and luxuriated in his warmth. He shrugged out of his shirt, freeing himself for her touch. Her mouth covered the place where his neck joined with his shoulders and she was aware of the shudder of delight and anticipation which coursed through him. A tear fell from her eye and rained down her cheek. Seeing it, Regan kissed it away, tasting the saltiness of it, as though it had come from the sea. And he knew and understood though not a word passed between them that her fingers and lips were committing him to memory. That her lips and eyes were devouring him in tiny pieces, so that if the fates should be cruel and if she were the only one to survive, she would be able to close her eyes and see him again as he was now; remember the feel of him, the taste of him, and live again this last night of bittersweet love.

Regan moved away from her and when they touched again he was naked just as she was. Magic spun a web and cloaked them from the world. They were two in love as none before and none after would ever be. And when his hands slid down her body, it was to adore her, worship her, take her with him to newfound heights, where passions of the flesh became a gift to the gods.

She offered herself to him, her body a shrine on the altar of their love. Never had their love been so pure and untainted, untarnished by the misunderstandings that had always loomed between them. They were one in body and heart. As they lay in each other's embrace, their desires sated, they knew they had the strength to face what must be confronted.

Sirena's eyes were bright and clear, unclouded by the apprehensions which had haunted her. She would face Blackheart with courage and valor. She had the world now, and the stars in the heavens. She had it all. Regan loved her.

Regan and Sirena stood together near the wheel, their eyes turned toward starboard as the high cliffs of Dover loomed in the distance. The early-morning sun cast a golden light over their chalk-white surfaces and they seemed like sentinels guarding the gateway to the Atlantic.

Regan's arm slipped around Sirena's waist, his hand warm and confident against her bare midriff. She turned to smile up into his eyes. She was ready to face anything, anyone. She was restored.

The current and the tide complemented the winds and the
Sea Spirit
sailed toward the end of land as if the ship knew that beyond the soaring cliffs she would find open water. Regan and Sirena found themselves holding their breaths. If their instincts were correct, Blackheart would be hiding on the westerly side of the jutting cliffs. It would be only moments before they gained free water and they waited expectantly to see the
Rana
slide out of hiding and follow them out of the channel.

Sirena's prayers echoed Regan's. Dear God, let Caleb be alive and well.

Ten minutes out into the Atlantic and a cry was heard, “Sail ho!”

Regan and Sirena had seen it also and he looked to her to give the order. “Loosen sail!” her voice rang out, strong and sure and unwavering.

“A kiss for luck, sweetheart,” Regan murmured, finding her lips with his. “This is your show, Sirena, give him hell!”

The sleek, three-masted frigate was coming about. “Heel to starboard and make ready to come alongside!” she ordered her crew. “Willem, to the wheel! Jacobus, down below!”

The old man was about to protest, but saw the determination in her eyes and realized it was useless. Coffee mugs clattering, he went toward the galley, closing the door behind him.

“Regan, look! There he is! Jan, hand me the spyglass.” Their attention was focused on the
Rana
's mizzenmast. Lifting the lens to her eye, she focused on a figure secured there with his arms stretched behind him to encompass the thick, sturdy beam.

“I see him, Regan. Here, look. He's alive!”

Regan took the glass from her. She saw some of the tension go out of his shoulders and the lines of his mouth relaxed. “So he is, the young cub. Thank God for that.” Regan trained the glass on the oncoming ship. “I count six crewmen and old Blackheart himself. Good Lord, Sirena, have you seen him?”

He handed her the glass. “There, on the quarterdeck.”

Sirena focused on the
Rana's
quarterdeck. She gasped when she saw Blackheart hobble across the deck, one leg dragging behind him, his left arm held at an awkward angle. “No wonder he wants to kill me. He's maimed beyond all help, Regan, and I did it to him.” She allowed the hand holding the spyglass to fall to her side. Her eyes clouded over.

Regan took her by the shoulders. “I won't have you punishing yourself for what's become of that scurve. He should have died long ago when you found him among my crew. He's an evil man, Sirena, and never forget what he did to you. Never. Remember your uncle and your sister and what he did to them! You can never go back, Sirena, only ahead, and it has come down to either you or him!”

Regan's words awakened a long-dormant portion of her memory. She thought of the man Blackheart had once been, strong and powerful and evil. Only the evil remained. She had once thought herself rid of the stain he had put upon her; she had thought that part of her life over, dead along with Blackheart himself. But it wasn't; it could never be as long as he drew breath. But how could he fight in his present condition? It would be worse than murder.

Seeing Caleb stretched on the mast strengthened her resolve. Caleb. He was the reason she had survived the ordeal with Blackheart's crew. Caleb. He had nursed her back to health. He had instilled in her a will to survive. He had witnessed her debasement with eyes older than time itself and his compassion and understanding had seen her through the most terrible trial of her life. Sirena lifted the glass to her eye again. Caleb was still strapped to the mizzenmast, struggling against his bonds. She remembered another time she had seen him strapped there, with the flesh of his back exposed and taking a cruel lashing at Blackheart's hands. And the boy had not cried out. That was the most terrible part of it all. His silence and his wordless suffering.

And that last day flashed through Sirena's memory, when her spirit and will to survive had been restored and Blackheart sent her to his cabin. Her eyes narrowed and her chest rose with deep, heavy breaths. That was the final straw and she would never forget or forgive him. Her skin had had a crawling sensation for what she knew he would do to her. “You're mine now,” he had growled. “The crew won't come near you again.”

Sirena had backed away, dreading the touch of his pawlike callused hands. But there was no escaping his long arms which pulled her toward him, crushing her. With savage intent, he had wound his fingers in her sable curls and yanked her head back until she had thought her neck would snap. His thick, wet mouth had burned her throat where he kissed her, nipping at her tender flesh, making her recoil.

“Sirena!” She had been so lost in her thoughts the sound of Regan's voice startled her, making her jump. She had retreated so far into the past and with such concentration she had not even been aware that the
Rana
had pulled alongside, dangerously close. Blackheart had left a scarce ten feet between the hulls and the two ships rose and fell together on the swells like lovers in the throes of passion.

Her green eyes flashed and skimmed the decks of the
Rana
, the hunted searching for the hunter.

“Sirena!” came a hoarse cry from the deck of the sterncastle. “Are you ready to feel the point of my blade?” Blackheart hobbled crablike across the deck, his once great height diminished by his maiming. She could see him clearly now, his face a feral mask of vengeance, a fire of insanity banked in his eyes.

“How do you like the popinjay I've secured to the mizzenmast? Have you come to watch me carve his guts from his body? I told him you would come! I knew you would!”

“So I have,” she called back, her voice, strong and clear, rang out over the water. “And now that I am here, what is your next move?”

“Don't you know?” he laughed. “Can't you guess? Shall I come to you or will you come to me?”

“Stay there! It is fitting I end it where it all began—on the
Rana!”

Regan looked hesitant when she asked him to heel into the
Rana
and throw a plank between the rails. Her finely muscled legs found their footing and she stepped lightly and quickly across the plank and leaped onto the deck of the
Rana.
She avoided Caleb's eyes, not wanting to see what she would find there. She had expected Regan to follow her, but when she quickly looked about, he was nowhere in sight.

“Come and get me, Blackheart,” she beckoned with her rapier. “Let's get it done with. Or don't you have the guts? Did I kill at least that in you?” Sirena brazened.

“As you can see, I'm not quite the man I was. So, I have come prepared to even the odds.”

“Sirena!” Caleb cried. “Watch out. He has a pistol!”

Sirena rapidly sidestepped as the ball whizzed past her ear and soared out to open water. Blackheart stood holding the smoking weapon.

“Would you have me believe you would end this so quickly? After all these years of planning, that you would merely point your gun and finish it? And what would you do with the remainder of your life?” she asked. “What would be your reason for living?”

Her alert eye saw his hand tremble. She knew that he, too, had thought of this. Once the Sea Siren was dead, Blackheart might just as well follow her corpse into the sea. All the purpose to his life would be swallowed beneath the swells.

His good right arm reached into his belts and withdrew another pistol, and she heard the click as his thumb brought back the hammer to cock it. He laughed, a wicked, menacing laugh. “Your cutlass will do you little good, Siren! You won't get close enough to me to use it! I mean to shoot you dead where you stand. I should have spilled your blood along with the rest of the crew when I first set foot aboard this vessel so long ago. I was a whole man then, and I had other appetites as you must well remember. But I'm as good as dead now, with what you've left me. And the dead belong with the dead, Sea Siren. It will be you and me for the rest of eternity!” He threw back his head and laughed, taking his eyes off her for that one second.

Like a flash of lightning, she closed the distance between them, holding her cutlass out before her, ready to sever his arm from his shoulder if he raised the pistol in her direction again.

Blackheart recovered and waved his arm, menacing her with his weapon. “I've got a good shot left in me, Siren, and you're going to have it.” He leveled his arm, directing the barrel straight at her; she could see his finger playing with the trigger, seemingly reluctant to have it done with.

Was this how it was going to end? she thought wildly. Here on the deck of the
Rana
without a chance to defend herself? At least she had given him that ... a chance.

Over the rail of the sterncastle a figure climbed. Regan! He dripped seawater on the deck, his hair was plastered to his face. That's why she hadn't seen him after she boarded. He had gone overboard and swam to the
Rana
's stern, taking the dangerous climb up the anchor chain and halyards.

Blackheart saw her attention focus on a point behind him, and turning, he saw Regan approach and fired. The sharp, crackling sound rang out over the waters.

Sirena acted instantly on impulse to finish Blackheart. He had dared to attack Regan. No one, not the Devil himself would be permitted to harm the man she loved! All reluctance because of Blackheart's disabilities was dispelled. In three long leaps she covered the distance between herself and the pirate. Her cutlass found its way between his ribs as he moved to face her.

She watched the expression on his face pass from hate to incredulity. Blackheart sank to his knees, clutching his chest. Blood bubbled up in a froth on his lips and drenched the deck red.

He lay crumpled on the boards, more dead than alive. His mouth worked with difficulty as he tried to utter his last earthly words. Stepping close to him, Sirena watched his hand reach out to grasp her boot. His grip was loose, no strength in his meaty, pawlike hand. He breathed harshly, choking and sputtering on his own blood. “You should have finished it the first time. And now it is done.”

Sirena backed away, pulling her ankle free of his hand. It was a full moment before she realized Blackheart was at last dead.

Regan came to stand beside her as they turned to face the commotion behind them. The crew of the
Sea Spirit
had come aboard the
Rana,
blades and pistols drawn. Blackheart's men, having no stomach for a fight, agreed to come peacefully.

Together, Regan and Sirena went to the mizzenmast where Caleb was still held by his bindings. Taking the dagger from his belt, Regan cut his son free and clasped him tightly. No words were necessary. In tacit understanding they clapped one another on the back, the way men do at times to express strong emotion. Caleb turned to Sirena, a sheepish grin on his face. Instantly she was in his arms, both forgiving and being forgiven for the anger that had been between them.

Blackheart's scurves were escorted across the plank to the
Sea Spirit
and Jan offered Sirena a jaunty salute.

“Capitana!” Willem called from the quarterdeck. “Shall I toss him over the side?” he asked, pointing to Blackheart's inert form.

Sirena's eyes fell to the body near Willem's feet. Her eyes became cloudy and her expression sober. Her eyes flashed spars of green lightning and her voice was stern and crisp. “Give him a decent burial, Willem. Take him aboard the
Sea Spirit
and have Jacobus prepare him for the sea. And when you say a prayer for his soul say it at the top of your voices. Perhaps it will serve to remind God's angels that once he had a soul.”

Jacobus smiled toothlessly and called from the deck, “Can we go to Cádiz, now? Wilhelmina will be worried about me!”

“Who?” Sirena called, her eyes puzzled.

“Wilhelmina!” he answered. “Frau Holtz!”

“Is he serious?” Regan laughed. “Could it be Frau Holtz has found the love of her life?”

“It must be,” Sirena answered, her face glowing with happiness, “even I didn't know her first name. If she's told it to Jacobus it must be true love.”

The crew wrestled with Blackheart's body, taking it to the
Sea Spirit
to prepare it for burial. Sirena's quick eye saw Caleb follow the men, and then remove the stout board bridging the distance between the two ships. “Caleb!” Sirena called. “Where are you going?”

“I thought you and Regan could take the
Rana
back to port! You don't need me! I'll sail with the crew. Do you think you can handle it or should we tow you in?”

“We'll handle it, son! Won't we, Sirena?” Regan asked, his voice husky with emotion.

For answer, Sirena smiled up at him, her eyes saying what his heart needed to hear. Caleb beamed across the distance. Somehow, somewhere, Regan and Sirena had found each other again. Their being together was as good and natural as the wind in the sails and the spindrift misting in the air.

“Where to, Capitana?” Jan called.

Sirena looked up at Regan, waiting for his answer. Her emerald-green eyes revealing all he needed to know. She would follow him anywhere in this world or the next. He was her world.