Pirate's Golden Promise (5 page)

“I thought I'd never catch up with you. Why didn't you ask me to ride with you?”

“You were busy planning your wedding,” he said brusquely.

“Fletch, I always have time for you.”

He smiled a sad smile. “I have something to tell you. Let's ride to our spot.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes until they reined in at their favorite spot on top of one of the hills. From their vantage point, the valley below was visible for miles around, and they were even able to see the gray-walled village in the distance. Dismounting, they sat on the grass and watched the storm clouds gather above them.

“What do you want to tell me?” Wynter asked, not thinking it could be serious, but she knew it was by the way his eyes darkened like the sky.

“I'm leaving. I've signed to sail on the
Mary Jack
in one month's time, to be an indentured servant in Virginia.”

“Fletcher, have you lost your good sense? Why you'd be little more than chattel! No, absolutely not. I forbid you to leave us.”

“You have little say over my life.”

Her insides shook first, then her hands. “Why do you want to sail away, Fletcher?”

He pulled out a blade of grass and chewed on it. “If you have to ask, then perhaps I shouldn't tell you, but I will. This might be my only chance. I love you and can't stay here when you'll be wed to Lord Somerset. I accept my low birth, but it doesn't stop the ache in my heart for you.”

Another shock. First Lucy's love for Adam, and now here was dear Fletch confessing his love for her. She felt her world changing, and not for the better.

Taking his hand, Wynter gave him a soft smile. “I love you, too, Fletch.”

“Not in the way that I mean, but I accept that you can't. You're far too fine and grand a girl for the likes of me. That's why I must be leaving, why I must make my fortune. And I will. One day I'll be a rich planter and have servants working for me. Do you know there are slaves in Virginia? Have you ever heard of such a thing? But, aye, if one needs slaves to be rich, I'll get me some.”

She smiled into Fletch's honest and open face, seeing him as the man he thought himself to be. She realized that he wouldn't always be thin and given to bouts of cold throughout the winter. In another place, he might fill out and become a strapping lad and capture some pretty girl's heart. And why shouldn't Fletch follow his dream? He had as much right to dream as anyone else. She decided that Fletcher would make out fine wherever he went, and for some inexplicable reason, she wished she were going with him.

“I shall miss you very much,” Wynter said and squeezed his hand.

He stood up, appearing uneasy. “I have chores to finish before supper. Let's be on our way back.”

“I think I'll ride some more. You return home.”

A little while later, she reined in her horse on the border of the Montgomery property. The large yellow stone house, built around the time of her own, stood in the open plain. Wynter wondered briefly if the arrogant sea captain still shared Estelle Montgomery's bed or had grown tired of her. She delighted to think he may have already left for the sea.

When she was about to turn Misty Blue around, she was startled to see the Dutchman grinning at her. He sat on his horse, a large black stallion. His hair blew wildly about his face, and Wynter couldn't help but realize how devilishly handsome he looked in a black riding jacket.

“You scared the wits out of me, sir!” she proclaimed.

“Forgive me. I thought you heard my approach.”

“I didn't.”

“No wonder. Your attention was markedly fixed on the Montgomery house. Were you dwelling on the inhabitants?”

A blush like a pink tide rushed to her cheeks. Damn the man! she thought, and tried to hide her embarrassment. Could he always read her mind so well?

“I was contemplating a visit to Lady Montgomery but thought better of it, lest she be busy.”

“Ah, busy with me, you mean.” He laughed aloud, amusement in his eyes. “Well, she isn't. So, your adolescent curiosity is appeased.”

Wynter's mouth dropped. He still considered her a child though he had tried to seduce her in the alcove. What sort of man was this foreign captain?

“You're extremely self-centered, sir.”

“Am I?” He inched his horse closer to her. Van Linden's musky male scent reached her nostrils and she grew very much aware of how his tawny eyes sparkled, how his lips were only inches from hers. She found herself mesmerized by him, unable to glance away. When a dark-sleeved arm shot out and encircled her waist, drawing her closer to him until her body meshed with his, she was quite prepared for his fiery kiss, so drenched with passion that she grew weak and breathless.

When his face parted from hers, she discovered that she clung with one hand to the reins and the other was clasped around his neck in wanton abandonment.

“You're a beautiful minx, my sweet, and perhaps I should rethink my original opinion of you. You kiss like no child.” His words rolled over her like silk, and she would have stayed in this position except that Misty Blue snorted, bringing Wynter to her senses.

She pulled her arm from around his neck and slapped his face with resounding force.

“You took advantage of me!” Wynter's eyes breathed smoky fire.

Van Linden took a firm hold of her arm. “The next time we meet, Wynter, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't practically swoon with passion in my arms and then pretend outrage later. It's quite aggravating.”

Dropping her arm, he urged his horse in the direction of the house, but Wynter shouted after him, her voice barely carrying on the blustery wind. “There shan't be a next time, Captain!”

She flew back across the fields, riding hard. When she arrived at the stables, Fletcher made a comment about Misty Blue's being lathered up, but she was so overwrought about the arrogant captain that she ran to the house, beating the deluge of rain by only seconds.

Maddie was in the kitchen and helped her off with her cape. “Your father wants to speak to you in the library.”

Wynter felt very drained suddenly. “Do you know what he wants?”

“Yes, I do.”

Maddie looked solemn and serious. Her hands trembled, and Wynter knew something was not right.

When she sat before her father some moments later in the straight-back chair, he came and knelt beside her. He took her hand.

“Papa, is something wrong?” she asked.

“I must tell you a secret, something you should have known from the beginning, but I thought to protect you. You must believe I never wanted to hurt you, pet.”

“Is it a bad secret?”

Walter took a deep breath and squeezed her fingers as if he were frightened she'd flee. “I hope you think not,” he told her, “but I tell you now to insure your happiness.”

It all made sense now to Wynter. Her father's confession explained Debra's disregard for her, the biting, veiled comments made over the years. The reason behind them was simple: she wasn't Debra's child.

“I hope you aren't disappointed, pet. Please know that I love you very much.” Walter looked so old suddenly in his hunched position that concern and love flooded Wynter.

She hugged him. “Oh, Papa, how sorry I am for you. All these years you've lived a lie because of me. How blessed I am that you're my father!”

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he murmured. “You're so like your mother, but you mustn't allow Debra to intimidate you. She wishes Lucy to marry Somerset, and I fear she will stop at nothing to have her way.”

Wynter shot him an encouraging smile. “He loves me, Papa.”

An aching sensation squeezed his chest a moment, and he stood up and held onto the desk until the pain passed. “I hope he does,” he said with more vigor than he felt. He didn't want Wynter to fret over him. Even now he saw the questioning arch of her brow. He smiled at her until her face visibly relaxed.

“Has my news upset you?” he asked.

Wynter shook her head. “I'm relieved Debra isn't my real mother. It's been horrible all these years, wondering why she hated me so, why she poisoned Lucy against me. I used to think it was my fault she hated me, that I had done something wrong. But now that I know the truth, she can't harm me ever again.”

“That's the spirit, pet. I'm proud of you, pleased you didn't break into tears on learning the truth. You're a true McChesney, Wynter. Remember, your ancestors are made from stern mettle. Don't ever allow anyone to belittle you because of an accident of birth. As much McChesney blood flows through your veins as Lucy's.”

“I'll remember,” she said. She noticed he was unusually pale, but he told her he had a great deal of work to do, so to leave him to it.

The wind and rain still pounded upon the valley when Wynter ran into the kitchen and retrieved her cape from the hook where Maddie had hung it an hour earlier. Quickly pulling it on and throwing her hood over her head, she ran from the house to the darkened chapel. She stood in the chapel doorway as her eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dimness. Wynter had been inside the chapel many times before and knew she could have walked blindfolded through the dark chill of the place.

On her left by the stained-glass window were the stone effigies of all the dead McChesneys, Sir Neville McChesney among them. Because of him she now stood in this spot, slept in the stone manor house each night, and would soon marry Lord Adam Somerset. He had built the manor house for a disagreeable wife while he partook of his mistress' charms. For the first time in her life Wynter empathized with him. Before, whenever the story was brought up, usually by Debra, she had thought it awful and wicked for Sir Neville to desert his family. Now she didn't think so. His story reminded her too much of her father's, and she could no longer hate Sir Neville.

She found her way to an oak pew and thought about Adam. With the lulling hum of the rain overhead, her mind fastened on his handsome face, on the way his eyes always raked over her body. At first she had found his secret looks exciting, because she'd had a childhood infatuation for him since she was six and he was 13. Of course, she never expected it to amount to much since there was an unspoken agreement that he and Lucy would wed one day. But they hadn't. And by the time he shipped off with the king's navy at 20, he and Lucy still weren't betrothed.

Adam had returned six months ago, and Wynter knew that Debra expected Lucy to marry Adam. However, Adam's interests weren't directed to Lucy, and now Wynter wore the huge Somerset betrothal ruby on her finger.

“I should be happy,” Wynter said aloud. But she wasn't happy suddenly, and it wasn't because of Walter's secret.

Wynter felt confused. If she loved Adam, why did his hands, his lips, cause her to push away from him? A person in love ached to be touched by the beloved, or so she had been led to believe by overhearing the servants talk about their amorous pursuits.

Her mind drifted from Adam to recall the feel of warm, firm lips upon hers and a strong arm around her waist. Wynter blushed, but traced her lips, which Cort Van Linden had claimed, with a fingernail. She wondered what would have happened if her horse hadn't broken the magic spell the man had woven over her. She had wanted him to kiss her, and she realized she was disappointed when he finally drew away. The arrogant man caused her to feel things she shouldn't feel for a man who wasn't her betrothed.

She shook her head to drive his handsome, bronzed face from her mind. Van Linden was crude, she told herself, a womanizer with only one aim in life. She vowed she wouldn't become his next target. Rising from her seat, she ran out of the chapel and across the yard to the house. Soon she was safely and snugly ensconced before the fireplace in the drawing room. Under Debra's watchful eye, pretending to study a Bible passage which Debra insisted she and Lucy discuss after supper, Wynter realized that Adam would never make her flesh tingle the way the captain had.

“So he told you!” Debra exclaimed later that night as Wynter readied for bed. Her white cap lay askew on her head, and her gray muslin dress enhanced the dark fury in her eyes.

“Yes, Father told me the truth,” Wynter said, as calmly as she could, a bit frightened of the hatred in Debra's eyes which the woman didn't bother to conceal. She continued brushing her hair, glancing at Debra's reflection in the mirror. Truly the woman detested her.

Wringing her hands, Debra paced the room. “He thinks he has won, but Somerset will marry Lucy. Not you. Never you!”

Wynter laid down her brush and turned to face the woman whom she had thought of as her mother until that morning. She knew Debra was attempting to intimidate her, just as her father said she would. Though Wynter did feel some intimidation under Debra's cold gaze and mouth set in a sneer, she wouldn't allow her to see it.

“I can feel Lucy's pain,” Wynter began calmly, “but Adam doesn't love her. He chose to marry me.”

“That situation can be undone.”

“It cannot.”

“It will!” Debra persisted. “My child shall win back Somerset House for me and make a great marriage in the process.”

Debra appeared so agitated that Wynter was concerned. “Please calm yourself, Mother. You'll make yourself ill.”

Hot, pulsing blood coursed through Debra's veins, and her face turned a fiery red. “Never call me such a name again! I am not your mother and never wanted to be your mother! Your mother was an adulteress, a lewd woman who bore my husband's child. I can never forget or forgive that. I wish to heaven you had been born dead. Then perhaps some of the affection your father bestowed upon you would have come my way.” Debra hadn't meant to speak so plainly, or to allow Wynter to know the secret pain she carried, but it was too late now. She couldn't take back her words.