“Good morning, Mr. Soames.”
“Was your breakfast satisfactory, milady?”
“It was perfect, Mr. Soames.” She smiled. There was something about the way that he guarded his master’s door that reminded her that this was no English manor. “I would like to ride, Mr. Soames. Would that be possible?”
“But, of course, milady. We wish to afford you whatever pleasures you desire. Come with me, please, I will take you to Señor Rivas. He is the horsemaster here at Bone Cay, and will be your delighted servant.”
They left the house by the rear and came instantly to the stables, whereby Skye learned how the Hawk had made it back to the house so quickly the night before.
They entered into the shadows, but Skye quickly saw that there were at least twenty stalls, and that the stables were kept as neatly as the Hawk kept his ship. A tall, lean, dark-haired man stepped forward. He was Señor Rivas, and Mr. Soames quickly left her in his care. Skye realized that she was waiting for someone to leap out and stop her, to tell her that it was an absurd joke and she was insane to think that she might have the freedom to ride. But no one appeared and Señor Rivas drew a dapple gray mare from a stall and saddled and bridled her. He led her from the stables and to a block so that Skye might mount easily, then he stepped away. “Good day, Lady Kinsdale. Enjoy your ride.”
His soft Spanish accent again reminded her that this was the New World, and that she was in a most uncivilized part of it at that. Spaniards and Englishmen mixed easily enough here now, for Spaniards and Englishmen had become pirates together,preying upon one another. The wars might be over now, but piracy was not.
Certain pirates were flourishing!
Skye turned the mare toward the docks and rode back the way that she had come. Barefoot children upon the sandy streets greeted her with bobs and curtsies. Small craft lay moored by the docks, too, and fishermen dragged in nets full of fish. Near the Silver Hawk’s sleek dark pirate ship Skye paused. Some of the crew remained upon her, repairing rents in sails, unloading cargo, scrubbing down decks, running new lines. She watched for several moments. Men saluted her, but none of them spoke to her, and none questioned her. She turned the mare about at last, and in a fit of aggravation, set her to galloping.
She raced with the wind past the fine brick walls and the pirate’s house. The land was nearly flat; sand and scrub fell away beneath her, and then the foliage began to thicken and it seemed that the trail began to rise over a mountainous terrain. At length, she reined in. She heard a rush of water, and she wandered further along a pine path and then came upon a startling and glorious sight. A deep blue pool lay before her with the water splashing over pebbles and rocks, and falling from a cliff high above in dazzling spurts of silver foam.
Skye dismounted from her horse and walked along the water’s edge on the clean, hard-packed sand. She did not sit, but stared over the water. Flowers surrounded the small pool with a burst of color, which followed the route where the water trickled into a brook and disappeared into the trees. It was, she thought, a startling paradise.
Standing there, Skye at last looked across the water to the shore beyond. Her hand flew to her mouth and a gasp escaped her. He was there, the Hawk, upon his white horse, watching her from the foliage. He had not been hiding; he merely sat so still atop the snow-white stallion that she had not seen him in the profusion of color.
He lifted a hand to her and urged his mount forward. The white stallion stepped into the cool water without hesitation. The water rose higher and higher, past the stallion’s flanks, and still he proceeded without fear. Like his master, the stallion moved purposefully. The water began to fall away, and the magnificent creature rose out from it, bearing the Hawk ever closer to her. She looked at the man. He was wearing a loose white shirt, black breeches, and his boots. His hat lay low over his eyes, the plume dancing, shadowing his eyes and whatever secrets lay within his heart. He looked like a true rogue, reckless, careless, ever the adventurer.
He came toward her, and she did not move, but held her position upon the shore. Still in the shallow water, he dismounted several feet from her. He was silent, watching her. She heard the soft music of the water as it cascaded from the cliffs and danced below in the sunlight. The breeze was light and soft and cool, and just whispered a tropical cadence as it rustled through the flowers and foliage.
For the longest moment, for eternity, Skye felt that her eyes were caught by his, and that his soul laid claim to her own. Locks lay upon the heart, he had told her. Not upon the material earth. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps there was no way to guard herself from the man.
He stepped back suddenly, casting a foot upon a rock, crossing his arms over his chest. “Good morning, milady,” he said, his rakish gaze sweeping the length of her and breaking the curious spell. “How do you find this place?”
“A prison, sir, for all its beauty.”
“I see,” he murmured. “Well, perhaps I have not had the time to show it to you properly. This is a place of most exquisite beauty. And unique, although much of the island of Jamaica is similar.”
“Why is this island so unique?”
“Why? Ah, Lady Kinsdale, this island is mine. That in itself makes it unique.”
He caught her arm, drawing her forward. “This water is fresh, not brackish. We never want for pure sweet water to drink. See the cliff and the flowers, and the radiant burst of color. This is soft here, while not a mile away lies the tempest of the ocean. Storms rage here, wild and free, embroiling the ocean. Yet the reefs protect us, for only an accomplished sailor would dare to risk my shores!”
He stood beside her, his arm touching hers, and she felt keenly how very much alone they were, the delicate rhythms of the moving water and the whispering wind their only company beside that of the waiting horses. He smelled of cleanliness, of soap, and of polished leather, and beneath it all, she felt a haunting pulse, the essence of the man, calling upon something within her that had little to do with life as she knew it. In a place like this, it was easy to forget the boundaries she had always known.
Easy to forget innocence.
She pulled away from him, crying out hoarsely. “Why are you always here? Always near me! I came to ride alone, and you are here! I never turn that you are not there, endlessly, always, there! Leave me be! I cannot abide you! Don’t be polite, don’t be courteous! You are a pirate, sir, and I despise you!”
She flung around in such fury that she startled the mare. Skye set about to leap upon her, but the creature snorted and reared, frightened. Her hooves rose high, scraping the air. Skye watched in fascinated horror as they danced above her.
“Skye! Damn you!”
He was upon her in an instant, bearing her swiftly up and out of the way. The speed and the force with which he moved sent them both flying down to the soft sand.
The mare’s hooves struck the earth, just inches away. Sand blew past them. Skye strained to sit up, but he was over her, his eyes on fire, his arms holding her tightly. Muscles clenched and unclenched within his face and throat and shoulders, and he railed against her. “Why, lady, are you always such a fool! You would cast yourself into any danger in order to get away from me! So you would not have me courteous, for I am a pirate still. Then, madame, let me play that pirate, and be damned with it all!”
“Bastard, let me up!” she cried. “You should have—”
“Aye, I should have! I should have given you free to One-Eyed Jack, and I should have let Logan take you and be damned with you then. Blackbeard could have been plagued with you as his prize, and I damned well should have let the horse mar your beauty forever, that you might haunt no other man with your glory and your fire. But you would have a pirate, lady, a rapist, a rogue, and never a gentleman. Then let’s have it, for, lady, I am done skirting the thorns of your temper!”
