She stood still for several seconds, then turned back to the window seat and stared out to sea. Would Logan really come for them? She shuddered. She had lied so deeply to the Hawk. She knew he was a better man than any of the others. A man to be respected.
And…were he not a pirate, she would have admired him.
As the long afternoon waned, Skye dozed in the window seat. She was awakened by a loud blast of one of the ship’s cannons. Jerking up in terror, she stared out at the sea.
They had slowed their pace to a mere crawl and she could just see the shore. Far to her left stretched white sands and long grasses. To her right she saw towers, high brick towers rising on either side of a slender channel. They approached that channel.
She sank back, her heart thundering. Home, the Hawk had called this place.
A cannon fired in answer from one of the towers. Skye lay still as she felt the ship move through the channel. Then she bolted up again as she heard laughter and words of welcome.
They had come to rest against a long wooden dock, and the plank was being lowered. Men were teeming off of the ship, being greeted by their fellows.…
And by their women.
Skye gnawed her lip, straining to see. Many of the sailors were being hugged and caressed by women, old women, young women, pretty young barefoot girls, and somber-looking matrons.
There was a whole community here! she thought. Bone Cay. It seemed that the Hawk ruled his own little kingdom. The Hawk! There he was himself, tall, lean, and striking in an elegant black frockcoat and knee breeches. A small blond woman yelled something and he laughed to her, picking her up in greeting, swinging her about. He set her down and she stared up at him adoringly. Another sailor joined them, and another woman. Skye experienced a strange searing sensation that brought a flush to her features. She swallowed tightly against the pain. She hated him, she wanted nothing to do with him, and she was glad that he was back to his beloved mistresses.
She started, falling back from the window as the door opened. It was Robert Arrowsmith.
He bowed gravely. “Milady, if you will accompany me, please?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To your room within the castle.”
“The castle?” she inquired imperiously.
“’Tis what we call the house, milady, for it is made soundly of stone, a fortress if you like. You will be safe there.”
“I will be a prisoner there.”
Robert paused. “A safe prisoner, mam’selle.”
She accepted his arm, eager to quit the ship but determined that he would not know her mind. He led her from the cabin and across the deck. The sails were furled now, and the deck was silent and still.
Robert Arrowsmith led her over the gangplank. A hush fell over the dock. Men and women stared at her, and she stared in turn. Robert led her through the crowd that thronged around the ship.
The people gave way, parting to give them an open path.
Then she saw that the Silver Hawk was still there. Indeed, he awaited her. He sat mounted upon a huge white steed, his plumed hat low on his head.
Skye paused, ignoring the pressure of Robert’s arm upon her.
“Come, Lady Kinsdale!” the Hawk shouted to her. “Welcome to the Hawk’s Nest! Do hurry along.”
“I’ll not!” she shouted defiantly. It was the gravest pleasure to humiliate the man in turn.
But he was not humiliated. He cast his head back with a thunder of deep laughter, and she was left to gasp as the white horse thundered down upon her. She stood her ground.
She should have turned to flee.
She should have…but she did not. And upon his snow-white stallion, the Silver Hawk seemed to fly on the wind. And leaning from his seat, he plucked her from the ground, sweeping her before him, and racing toward the fortress that rose ahead of them.
And still the deep husky sound of his laughter rang against the coming of the night.
VII
