Windswept (27 page)

There must have been something in his tone, something Nora misinterpreted, because she reached out a hand to cover the one of his that rested on his knee. “Jacob, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be,” he said, and meant it. No one should waste one ounce of pity mourning Sophie Proctor’s death. But he took the sting out of his words by turning his hand palm up and entwining his fingers with hers.

“Such a sad childhood you had,” Nora said. “One loss after another. You spoke of your father. He’s alive then?”

“Very much alive.”

She smiled, obviously relieved to have discovered a secure element of Jacob’s desolate youth. If she only knew. If only he could keep her from finding out. But each mile brought them closer to the truth, and the reality of Belle Isle was anything but secure.

“I’m glad for that at least. You have your father and the beautiful island.”

A beautiful island with a poisonous underbelly
. Soon enough, Belle Isle would reveal it’s hidden depravity to a trusting Nora Seabrook. She would learn that beauty is only the surface of a thing. And yet, when Jacob looked at her, he found it almost possible to believe that true beauty could touch the soul and live in the heart.

If only Belle Isle were like Nora. If only it was the place it was meant to be, the place a joyous Lydia Proctor designated it on the day she first sailed into the protected bay and proclaimed it was kissed by an angel.
If only
… Jacob’s grandmother used to say, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Wishes were only useless fragments of a dreamer’s mind.

Going to the island always made him anxious and melancholy, but this time it was worse than ever. This time he longed for the island to be as Lydia saw it. He wished he were taking Nora to the paradise his grandmother envisioned before it all went so wrong. Before he learned his own fate was sealed with the woman who plunged from the cliffs that wretched night.

He suddenly needed Nora’s beauty and goodness close to him, to remind him that it did exist in some realm. He clasped her hands in his and stood, bringing her with him. Then he pulled her into his arms. She hesitated for just a moment and then stepped willingly into his beckoning circle. He cupped the back of her head, and she lay her cheek against his chest.

“Ah, Nora, enough talk about Belle Isle for tonight," he said "Soon I will tell you more, and then before long we will be there.”

She stirred in his arms and looked up into his face. “You do love it there, don’t you, Jacob?”

He stroked her hair, trailing raven silk through his fingers. “The island begs to be loved,” he said, and that part was true.

“And are you so very sorry that I’m here, that I will get to see this place you guard so carefully with your secrets?”

He was sorry she was going to Belle Isle, but, God help him, he was not sorry she was here. He smiled down into her shining eyes. “Do I confound you so much Nora, that you need to ask?”

“Truly, Jacob, you confound me more than that.”

“Then perhaps you need some convincing.” He lowered his head and took her mouth in a crushing kiss that stirred longings buried deep inside him, longings he had no right to quench. He flicked his tongue across her lips until she opened them to his explorations. She was soft and warm and deliciously moist inside, and in the haven of her mouth he could forget everything but the tender yielding of her body against his.

When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, he could only whisper into her hair, “Nora, I am sorry about many things, but not that you are here right now.”

“Then for what?” she questioned in a teasing voice. “I can’t find an objection to anything you’ve done in the last few minutes.”

He smiled at her delightful honesty. She made him happier than he deserved to be. “Then for nothing in particular. I’m just trying to get an apology or two ahead.”

“Hmm, knowing you, I doubt that will be enough.”

For Nora, the next few days passed in languid anticipation. She spent warm, sunny days reading on the bow of the ship and cozy nights in Will’s cabin writing her impressions of her voyage and her idea of what their destination would be like. She tried to help the crew when she could and to tend to her own concerns without having to ask for assistance.

One of these concerns was her wardrobe, or lack of one. Remembering the basket of colorful material she’d seen in the ship’s hold, she decided to ask Jacob about it one morning with the intention of adding to her one garment. He told her the cloth was meant to be a gift for the women on Belle Isle, that he always brought some little thing the women could not ordinarily procure on the island. When she only uttered a disappointed, “I see,” he had taken the cue and offered her a bit of the fabric.

“I’d much rather you’d make use of a few yards of it than walk around in my clothes,” he’d said and then smiled wickedly. “Though now that I think of you that night in my shirt, I wonder if I haven’t gone addled in my brain to say such a thing.”

Nora had grinned at the memory herself, recalling the pleasure of bantering with this difficult man. Without responding verbally she’d run off to fetch the material with Jacob calling after her, “See Quigley for a needle and thread. He’s the one who most often bursts his seams and has need of them.”

After that evening in Will’s cabin when Jacob had told her about Belle Isle and his family, he had not sought occasions to be alone with her. He hadn’t exactly avoided her either. They took their meals together in the galley, sharing pleasant conversation with the crew. He had questioned her often about her welfare on the ship, inquiring as to whether she was keeping occupied and not lacking any necessities. Aloof concern was how she described his behavior in her moments alone when she had time to think about it.

Unfortunately she also thought about the night they were alone in Will’s cabin and about the kiss that still burned in her memory. No girl could ever forget the gentle protection of his strong arms around her and the almost desperate tenderness of that kiss. She sighed wistfully when she recalled the assertive press of his mouth on hers, the insistent plundering of his tongue as if he hungered to fulfill some desire in his soul by subjecting her to his will.

She warmed to the roots of her hair even still, knowing that if he longed to conquer her that night, she had been more than willing to oblige him. It was a dangerous reaction to a dangerous man if ever there was one. Perhaps aloof concern was what was needed between her and Jacob.

She learned more about the natives of his mysterious island one calm, clear evening when he asked her to stay with him a moment at the ship’s wheel. He stood behind her, placed her hands on the spindles, and instructed her how to keep the ship on an even keel. She followed the direction indicated by the compass and fastened her gaze on the horizon where somewhere beyond her view lay Belle Isle.

“Who lives on this island, Jacob?” she asked him after they had fallen into a comfortable silence.

He thought a moment before answering. “A few hundred decent people unaffected by greed or ambition.”

“It’s a lovely thought,” she said, “but what I meant was where did they come from originally.”

“Ah… Belle Islanders, they will tell you, are a unique combination of Bahamian, Latin and Dutch influences. When you see them, you might agree. They get their grace of movement and lithe bodies from their Bahamian ancestors, their olive-skinned beauty from their Latin forbearers, and their patience and tolerance from the Dutch.”

“A nice combination,” Nora said. “They sound almost perfect.”

^P^P

His hands covered hers on the ship’s wheel and he turned it just slightly, making an adjustment in their direction. “Not so perfect, I’m afraid,” he said. “They lack cunning and the ability to see and know their enemies. They are sadly defenseless against attack. Luckily they’ve never had to test their combative skills or self preservation instincts. If they had, I’m afraid the island people would be easy prey.”

She thought about what he said, and found his reference to attack and defense to be at odds with his other descriptions of the beautiful island. “Perhaps as isolated as they are, they will never have to know what it is to have their society in jeopardy. I would think that one would be as safe on Belle Isle as anywhere in the world.”

His hands clenched unexpectedly over hers. “One should never be so at ease that he drops his guard completely, Nora. I don’t believe any place is truly safe from all harm. This is something you will have to learn…before we reach Belle Isle.”

Again Nora couldn’t understand what made Jacob say such things. In all her life, she had known only security and safety. The warmth and protection of a loving family. A welcoming home as her refuge through childhood. And even now, on this ship, with its captain’s arms surrounding her in snug security, she felt safe.

Perhaps she had dwelled in a cocoon of blissful naivety all her years, but she could never envision herself embracing Jacob’s cynicism. Or, maybe she still had a lot to learn about this man and his island.

The afternoon before they were due to arrive at Belle Isle, Jacob granted Nora a special privilege. Since the ship had made good time, and three casks of fresh water still remained in the hold, he gave in to her desires to have a bath, a real one in which she could soak herself from head to toe, not just wash from a basin attached to her cabin wall.

Her “tub” was half a hogshead in the belly of the ship. It was not large enough to allow her to stretch out and leisurely soak, but it did accommodate her body if she pulled her knees nearly to her chin. But when it was filled with warm water from Quigley’s stove and she lowered herself inside, it was heaven.

She was so grateful that she wanted to thank Jacob again for his thoughtfulness. After supper that night she abandoned her usual habit of staying in her quarters till morning and went on deck to find him. Several crew members had congregated in mid deck to play cards. “Have you seen Jacob?” she asked them.

“Oh, miss, indeed we have,” Skeet answered. “He’s at the wheel this very moment. And as you can see, the rest of us are as far away from that location as we can be.”

Thinking the old sailor’s remarks odd, Nora questioned, “Why is that, Mr. Skeet?”

“It’s the way it always is the night before we reach the island. We leave the captain be, and he likes it that way. It’s when he prepares himself.”

Prepares himself for what, she wondered. “Do you think he would mind an interruption from me?” she asked.

Skeet looked at his companions and grinned back at her. “You’re probably the only one whose head wouldn’t be chomped off at the neck for botherin’ him.”

Shaking off the gruesome image, Nora left the men to their pastime. She found Jacob alone at the stern, his hands on the wheel, a single sidelight illuminating his face. His features were set in grim determination, but when he saw her, the lines around his eyes and mouth softened.

Nodding toward his crew, but watching her, he said, “If a bath can effect such a transformation on a person, Nora, perhaps I should insist the whole bloody lot of them give it a try.”

He seemed much too jovial for a headhunter, and her skin warmed at his praise. She’d only had lye soap and a brush she’d found in one of the crates to work with. And since she wasn’t much of a seamstress, she’d felt lucky to have created a sort of sarong type dress out of a silky flowered material in the wicker basket. Before coming on deck, she’d cinched her creation at the waist with the white sash from her yellow gown. All in all, she thought the effect somewhat exotic, like pictures she’d seen of ladies in India.

When she came close to Jacob, he stroked the back of one finger down her cheek. “Or maybe it’s the moonlight that becomes you so,” he said.

She turned her face into his hand and her lips brushed his knuckle before he grasped the wheel again. “It’s the bath,” she said, “and I’ve come to thank you again for your consideration.”

“You’re welcome. I’m relieved to know you’ve recognized some long buried measure of gallantry in my otherwise rude disposition.”

She grinned up at him. “You’re not truly rude, Captain.”

“Lying again, Miss Seabrook? I believe you’ve called me so once or twice yourself.”

“Yes, I have, but you didn’t let me finish just now. I was about to say you’re not boorish…
every
minute of
every
day.”

He laughed, a full rich sound so unlike any she’d heard from him that Nora let it wash over her like the first fresh breeze after a rain storm. It was just that cleansing and so utterly male in its resonance that tremors of something exciting and provocative coiled in Nora’s stomach. She decided she liked Jacob’s laugh.

He reached out and slipped his arm around her, then drew her against his chest so she stood between him and the wheel. He leaned back against a post and bent his leg slightly so she could rest against his thigh. They stayed that way for several minutes, both looking out at the ocean, his lips next to her hair, his hand resting on her shoulder, and her body curved into his as if a sculptor had chiseled them to fit so perfectly.

“I’m glad you came on deck tonight,” he said after a while.

His words mirrored her own thoughts exactly, and she wondered once more why his crew would avoid their captain on the last night before arriving at Belle Isle. Nora found him wondrously pleasant to be with. “Why is that?” she asked.