Page 88 of The Pirate Lord
Chapter Twenty-Three
“If all men are born free, how is it that all women are born slaves?”
— MARY ASTELL, POET AND FEMINIST, PREFACE TOSOME REFLECTIONS UPON MARRIAGE
By the time the men who’d gone hunting had reached the beach in the early evening, they were in high spirits. They were weighted down with several pig carcasses and had even bagged a few partridges. Amid much boasting and joking, they swaggered toward the communal bonfire and called for ale.
Gideon, however, had no interest in ale. He wanted Sara. He could hardly wait to tell her of the waterfall they’d stumbled upon at the edge of a grove of orange trees. Already, he was making plans to return there with her in the morning. They could bathe in the falls, then feed each other oranges, a fitting prelude to an afternoon of lovemaking in the forest.
Shifting his small canvas bag from one hand to the other, he thought of the gifts he’d brought her—an odd piece of sparkling rock, several oranges, a piece of scrimshaw. He was especially proud of the scrimshaw. It was a perfect miniature of the beach at Atlantis, a bit of carved ivory no bigger than his thumb.He’d traded his best hunting knife to one of his men for that scrimshaw. If she didn’t think it was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen, he’d be surprised.
But where was she? He’d thought for sure she’d be here waiting. He glanced up at the cottage and saw a light burning in the window. She must already have retired to their house to wait for him. If that were the case, the sooner he could get to her, the better. Catching sight of Louisa standing silently by the fire, he motioned to the men who were carrying the pigs on poles to come forward. With wide grins, they set the dead animals before her like lords bestowing jewels on a queen.
“We eat well tonight, Louisa.” Gideon threw the other, larger canvas bag he’d been carrying at her feet. “Roast the partridges first. We’ll eat them while we’re waiting on the pork. And don’t let that husband of yours spoil it by cooking it badly, do you hear? You’ve got a good hand with pork. Let’s see what you can do with it.”
“Aye,” Silas said good-naturedly at Gideon’s side. The man had drunk more than he should have and was now well enough into his cups that he apparently didn’t much care if his cooking was maligned. “The lass surely has a talent for cookin’ pork, don’t she?” He cast her a lascivious look. “And that ain’t the only thing she’s got a talent for, either. Take my word for it, lads.”
The men nudged each other, exchanging winks and chuckles, then casting Louisa sidelong glances to witness her reaction. Usually a comment of that kind would have elicited a deep blush from her, followed by a sharp retort. Since her acid tongue was a source of amusement for the men, they always delighted in seeing how she’d take their ribaldry.
“That’s enough of that, Silas,” she said quietly.
The men looked at her, waiting for more of a reaction. When they got none, Silas said, “Is that all you can say then, lass?” Hehung on Gideon’s shoulder for support. “What d’ye think, lads? Have I tamed the little woman at last?”
“Silas, please hold your tongue,” Louisa begged.
Something in the urgency of her voice, in the uncharacteristic lack of sharpness, caught Gideon’s attention. When Silas started to mumble something else, Gideon ordered him to be silent. Then he faced Louisa. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Her anxious gaze flitted to the men behind him. “Perhaps we should speak more privately?—”
“There’s no need for that.” A sudden chill shook him as a thousand fears sprang into his mind. And foremost was the one he could scarcely bear to voice. “Is it Sara? Has something happened to her?”
Louisa stared down at the sand. “Nothing’s happened to her. That is . . . well . . .”
“Where is she?” He glanced back at the cottage, his heart leaping into his throat. If something had happened to her . . . He started off toward the cottage, but a familiar voice behind him stopped him.
“She’s gone, cap’n.”
Slowly he turned to find Peter Hargraves standing in the jagged circle of light cast by the fire.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Gideon growled as Peter’s words sank in. “And what do you mean, ‘she’s gone’? Gone where?”
Ann Morris moved up beside Petey, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow as he twisted his hat round and round in his hands. “Well, cap’n, you see . . . that is, I?—”
“She’s gone off to England with her brother,” Queenie said as she flounced into view. “And Petey’s the one that brought the bloke here to fetch her.” A look of smug satisfaction crossed herdissipated face. “It’s like I told you before, guv’nor. You wasted yer time settin’ yer sights on that tight-arsed bluestocking.”
“Queenie, hold your tongue,” Louisa snapped as Gideon went pale.
Fixing Petey with a furious gaze, Gideon growled, “What is she talking about?”
Louisa stepped in, her face sympathetic. “Apparently, Petey was workin’ for Miss Willis’s brother, the Earl of Blackmore. It was Petey who brought the earl and his men back here this morning aboard his ship, theDefiant. After they got Miss Willis, they set sail for England.”
Gideon’s blood froze in his veins. Sara was gone? The earl had taken her? It must have been by force, for Sara would never have left him otherwise. Not after the things they’d said to each other, the way they’d made love and planned for the future and?—
He groaned, remembering the conversation they’d had about her brother and how much she missed him. She’d said she wouldn’t leave Atlantis. But she’d also said she wanted to return to England for a visit.
Clenching his fists, he thought back over everything she’d said, her concern for what might happen if her brother came. She’d been expecting Hargraves then, hadn’t she? If Hargraves had been in the earl’s employ, then Sara must have known all along that her brother would be coming to get her. While she’d been making love to him, she’d been counting the days until her rescuers arrived.
No, he couldn’t believe it. Not his Sara.
