CHAPTER FIVE
Hayden was out on his ship, the Nine Lives, and directing his crew at their tasks. They were stocking supplies for the trip to England, but also stowing cargo that would bring him a small fortune after he arrived. His years of traveling with criminals, of observing and assisting as they’d plundered and pillaged, had turned him into a businessman.
He recognized value. He understood commerce. He knew how to sell for a profit and make a killing.
He was incredibly grouchy, and his head was pounding from a hangover, induced by his over-indulgence the night before. He didn’t usually drink to excess. His disastrous foray in London as a young dandy had imparted numerous devastating lessons that had cured any desire for inebriation.
But sometimes, he imbibed now just because he could. There was no one to tell him he couldn’t, and he was prone to intemperance when he was eager to demonstrate that he was free and once again in charge of his life.
On the shore, Helen was sitting in the shade outside his tent. He was struggling to ignore her, but he couldn’t. Where she was concerned, she was like a magnet and he was metal, and he was relentlessly drawn to her.
No matter how desperately he tried, he couldn’t pull away.
She was the reason for his hangover, and he couldn’t figure out why he’d kissed her so passionately. And for such a lengthy period too!
When she’d strolled by in the moonlight, he should have remained hidden in the shadows, but he hadn’t been able to do that. He’d called her over and had behaved precisely as he shouldn’t.
He’d persuaded himself that alcohol had lowered his inhibitions. As he’d proved in the lead up to his disastrous duel, he made bad choices when he was intoxicated. It had been idiotic to kiss Helen, but it had been sweet and thrilling too, and he wanted to kiss her again at the earliest opportunity.
What had she thought about it? Obviously, she hadn’t been incensed, hadn’t risen in the morning and left camp the instant she could. No, she was loafing and letting herself be pampered by his men. Robert’s sons were being particularly solicitous.
She was watching him as avidly as he was watching her, and her heightened attention was disturbing. Although it had been a decade since he’d lived in England, he hadn’t forgotten the rules of courting.
A female like Helen Barnes wouldn’t snuggle in the dark with a man unless there was some purpose behind it, that purpose being matrimony.
No doubt she’d concocted all sorts of scenarios where he’d declare himself, propose, then they would wed. It would never happen though. He hated to be a snob about it, but he was destined to walk a path that would never include a penniless vicar’s daughter.
He shouldn’t encourage her, shouldn’t pretend affection. It would simply break her heart in the end, but he couldn’t tamp down his potent attraction.
“I’m going in,” he told Robert.
Robert snorted with disgust. “May I ask why?”
“No, you may not.”
“You’ve been gaping at her all day. I’m surprised you concentrated on your chores as long as you have.”
“I haven’t been gaping at her all day,” Hayden lied.
“She’s pretty. I’ll give you that, but should you trifle with her?”
Robert had an uncanny ability to read his mind.
“No, I shouldn’t trifle with her.”
“But you will anyway?”
Hayden shrugged. “I haven’t decided what I’m planning.”
“She’s not a trollop. If you flirt with her, she’ll think it means something.”
“She’ll be wrong.”
It was the very issue that had been vexing him, and even with Robert warning him to be cautious, he couldn’t leave her alone.
“Don’t stir a huge predicament with her,” Robert said. “Not when it’s almost time to sail. I refuse to be trapped here an extra second because of her.”
“Weren’t you the one who suggested we offer her passage to England?”
“Weren’t you the one who insisted we shouldn’t? Have you changed your opinion about it?”
“No.”
“Will we abandon her to fend for herself?”
Hayden didn’t reply, because a true response would sound callous and cruel.
He had no intention of conveying her to England. He could conceive of no worse circumstance than to be on board a ship with her for several weeks. That didn’t even take into account her flirtatious sister. The girl might precipitate any calamity with his crew, and he wasn’t about to hang or flog some dunce merely because she batted her lashes at a fellow who couldn’t resist.
Even if he agreed to transport Helen to England, she probably wouldn’t want to depart Tenerife. She was determined to locate her rapscallion father, and Hayden shouldn’t interfere in that quest.
If he delivered her to England, how would she carry on? She had no skills and couldn’t earn an income. She relied on her father for financial support, so she was in a quagmire either way. He wouldn’t exacerbate it.
He went to the rail and gestured for two of his sailors to row him in. If he hadn’t invited Helen to tarry, he’d have stripped naked and enjoyed a lazy swim to shore. Her presence was already altering things he didn’t care to have altered.
He climbed down the rope ladder to the long boat, and he stood at the bow, his feet braced as the sailors dropped down behind him and manned the oars.
His gaze was locked on her as they pushed away from the ship. She saw him approaching and didn’t try to conceal her piqued interest. He didn’t wait to arrive on the beach, but leapt out in the surf, not concerned that his trousers and boots were wet. He was hot and miserable, and the cool water felt grand.
He whispered to Tom to saddle his horse, then he marched over to her. She was seated on a log in front of his tent, her sister beside her. They were wearing some of the garments that had littered the most recent pirate island where he’d lived.
The ruthless group had plagued settlers in the Caribbean and on the coast of South America. They’d stolen whatever could be stolen: clothes, tools, furniture, pots and pans, gold, jewelry. When he and Robert had finally fled, he’d packed it all and taken it.
In his rough, all-male camp, the two women looked like exotic flowers that had been planted in the wrong garden. Helen’s dress was pink and her sister’s blue. Their brunette hair was down and braided. It had been an eternity since a British maiden had smiled at him, and he nearly wept at the commonness of it all.
It seemed so normal, and when naught had been normal for ages, it was overly soothing.
“Hello, Nine Lives,” Helen said. “I’ve been watching you all day. You’re a hard worker.”
“I learned to be.”
“Who taught you?”
“No one you should ever hear about.”
“Your camp is full of supplies, but you haven’t explained where they came from.”
“Does it matter?”
“I believe we had a discussion last evening about your line of employment.”
Her sister butted in. “You talked to him last night?”
Helen blushed furiously. “I couldn’t sleep, so I strolled in the moonlight.”
“Really?” Miss Becky raised a brow. “How absolutely fascinating.”
Helen ignored her and kept her focus on Hayden. “Are you a pirate? Are you a smuggler? I wish you’d provide some idea of who we’ve encountered.”
“At the moment, I’m not anything,” he replied.
Her sister jumped in again. “Are you a pirate? Please tell me you are, because then—for the rest of my life—I can brag that I met you.”
Tom arrived with his horse. Hayden mounted the animal, then he stared down at Helen. “I’m hot and grumpy.”
“Well, the temperature is ghastly,” she responded, “so I understand you being hot. But why are you grumpy?”
“I’m hung over.”
“You shouldn’t drink so much.”
Her sister’s eyes widened with shock. “Helen, you were with him in the dark when he was intoxicated?”
“No!” she sternly insisted. “He just shouldn’t…drink. As he’s fully aware, it’s not the cure for what ails him.”
“What ails him?” Becky asked, but Helen didn’t answer.
He leaned forward and extended his hand to Helen. “Come with me.”
“To where?”
“Let’s ride down the beach.”
She was about to refuse, but Miss Becky saved him, making him think that perhaps she wasn’t a nuisance after all. She nudged Helen with her elbow. “You should, Helen.”
“No, I shouldn’t.” Helen was too maddeningly cautious for words.
“If you don’t want to join him,” her sister goaded, “I will.”
Helen blanched with alarm. “You will not.”
The little minx grinned up at Hayden. “Will you take me instead?”
The taunt was too much for Helen. She stood and walked over to the horse.
“I’d be delighted to accompany you.” Her dour expression belied her remark.
“Don’t look so petulant about it,” he scolded. “If you’re going to be a grouch, I can take your sister. I don’t mind.”
“I do,” she said.
She reached up to him, and with a quick lift, he hefted her up so she was snuggled close.
“Were you taught to ride?” he asked her. “Can we gallop away, or are you afraid of horses? Must I trudge along as if we’re on our way to a funeral?”
“I can ride, and I’m not afraid.”
“Perfect.”
Becky was preening like the cat that had eaten the canary. “Will you be here for supper? Should we wait for you?”
But Hayden had already tugged on the reins. The horse shot off and raced away. He simply waved at Becky, letting her assume what she would.
He didn’t know when he’d bring Helen back. Maybe he’d continue to the ends of the Earth and never stop. He certainly doubted he’d be weary of her by supper.
At the animal’s powerful canter, Helen whooped with joy. He kissed her ear, her neck, feeling free and happy as he couldn’t ever remember being.
* * * *
Helen sat on a deserted beach, her shoes and stockings off, her toes buried in the sand. Nine Lives was loafing next to her. The sun was over in the western sky, sunset a few hours away.
The turquoise ocean stretched in front of them, Tenerife’s massive volcano towering behind. Since departing the camp, they’d seen no signs of habitation, no people, no buildings, no roads. They might have been the only two humans in the world, and she wondered if this was what it had been like for Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.
“You’re beautiful in that dress,” he suddenly said.
She’d thought he was asleep, and she jerked her gaze away from the lapping surf.
“Thank you for loaning it to me.”
“You can have it. It’s not as if I have any use for it. Actually, I have trunks filled with clothes. You and your sister can dig through them and have whatever you like.”
“It’s marvelous to be out of my black gown, so we might oblige you.”
“I like a pretty girl to be pretty.”
“If you keep showering me with compliments, I’ll get a big head.”
He chuckled. “Heaven forbid.”
“I have to ask where you acquired so many feminine items.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I presume you stole them.”
“I didn’t steal a single thing.”
“Your comment implies someone else did.”
He smiled at her. “Let’s go for a swim.”
“No.”
“Why not? Aren’t you burning up?”
“Yes, but I’d hate to ruin my dress by dipping it in the salted water. I can’t imagine it would be good for the fabric.”
“You can take it off.”
Her jaw dropped in shock. “And be without my clothes?”
“Yes.”
“No. Besides, I told you I can’t swim.”
“You never lived in a farmhouse where there was a pond in the back?”
“No. We always lived in town in church rectories, and even if we’d had a pond, I wouldn’t have jumped into it.”
“Why not?”
“Girls don’t…swim. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“My sisters learned how, but then, my mother was very lenient.”
“You had sisters?”
“Yes.”
It was the first personal tidbit he’d shared. “How many?”
“Three.”
“Any brothers?”
“No. I was the only boy.”
“Where are they now? Have you any idea?”
“No. I haven’t been home in a long time.”
“How long?”
“A decade.”
“Have you corresponded with them?”
“No.”
“Why not? Weren’t you close? Don’t you suppose they worry about you?”
“I wasn’t able to correspond.”
“Why not?”
“I just…wasn’t able.”
She scoffed. “You hoard your secrets like a miser hoards his gold.”
“I was taught the hard way to shut my mouth and keep my secrets to myself.”
She couldn’t guess what that meant or why anyone would deliberately prevent a brother from contacting his sisters, and she was positive she’d never pry an explanation out of him. Instead, she asked, “What must your sisters be like now? If it’s been ten years, would they have changed?”
“Probably not. They were very smart, very strong-willed—as my mother was. They’re all in their twenties. I’m expecting they’re all married and each of them has five or six children.”
“So you’re an uncle several times over.”
“Huh. I hadn’t considered that. All of it seems so far away, as if I never lived in England and was never related to them.”
“Will you ever head home to find out what’s become of them? Aren’t you curious?”
He paused for a protracted interval, but didn’t reply. Then he sat up and stood. “You don’t want to swim, but I do.”
She shooed him toward the ocean. “Don’t let me stop you from enjoying yourself. Just don’t start to drown. I won’t rescue you.”
“Ha! As if you could.”
He tugged off his stockings and boots, and he went over to the water’s edge. He was large and lithe, and he moved like an athlete or perhaps like a lion she’d seen at the zoo in London. She was tantalized by him and simply couldn’t look away.
He reached for his shirt and pulled it off, tossing it on the sand. He studied the waves for a minute, then he waded out and dove under one of them, coming up on the other side so he was floating where it was deeper. He grinned at her, then swam out from shore.
Once he spun away, her merry expression collapsed, and a frown marred her brow. In the quick instant when he’d yanked off his shirt, she’d had an unobstructed view of his back.
It was a mass of scars, his skin criss-crossed with whip marks as if he’d been frequently flogged. Had he been? The prospect distressed her.
In the short period they’d been acquainted, she’d convinced herself he was merely a brigand who’d enriched himself by engaging in illicit activities. But clearly, there were facets to his history that she hadn’t recognized.
What conduct could a fellow exhibit that would get him so violently lashed? How many times had it occurred? How had he survived such brutal punishment?
He’d been very nonchalant about the scars, and obviously, he didn’t mind if she observed them. He wasn’t concerned, but she was incredibly troubled.
She suffered a surge of powerful emotions: fury at his mistreatment, sadness over his injuries, indignation over the viciousness of the chastisement. It was such a cruel world, and she’d been sheltered from its perils. Men traveled in foreign lands and embarked on adventures women weren’t allowed to experience, but those journeys brought great risk.
The evidence of his maiming rattled loose a torrent of protective sentiment. He was hers now, and it would always be her duty to guard him and keep him safe.
She walked over and grabbed his shirt, folded it, and laid it on the sand where the tide wouldn’t catch it. Then she turned to the water, her eyes glued to him, wishing she could draw him back with the force of her thoughts.
He noticed her watching him, and he swam toward her, sweeping in on a wave, and he rose up from the surf like an ancient god of the sea.
His hair was wet, droplets cascading down his shoulders and chest. The sight of all that damp flesh tickled her insides. He looked…beautiful.
Could a man be beautiful? Yes, definitely.
Without a word, he scooped her into his arms, then he was kissing her and kissing her. She kissed him back with all the fondness she could muster.
She was stretched out the length of him, so she could feel every inch of his strapping frame. He was so tall and manly, and next to him, she seemed small and frail, desperate for his friendship and the security he could provide.
Just that moment, with the sun shining down and the breeze cooling her heated torso, she believed any wild conclusion might be possible.
“Come in with me,” he murmured between frantic kisses.
“I can’t, I can’t.”
“You can. Come.”
He picked her up and tromped into the waves, and she shrieked with dismay.
“I can’t ruin my dress!” she sternly advised him.
“I don’t give a damn about your dress,” he crudely muttered. “I’ll buy you a dozen more.”
“I don’t need a dozen more. I simply need this one—dry and in good shape when we return to camp. I can’t strut in all bedraggled.”
“I don’t care how you appear later on. I only care about now.”
His fingers were busy, slipping the buttons through the buttonholes.
“I’m not disrobing!” she fumed. “You can’t see me in my undergarments.”
“I won’t peek.”
She clucked her tongue with offense. “Liar. You’ll absolutely will.”
“Maybe.”
He grinned, not ceasing his mischief with her buttons. Nor had he stopped his progress into the ocean. The hem of her skirt was dragging, already very heavy.
“I’m not taking it off,” she said again.
“Fine, then. You can leave it on.”
Despite her protests, he marched out, and swiftly, the water was at his waist, then his chest. She was soaked, her dress completely drenched.
It had been very hot that morning, so she hadn’t put on her corset, choosing instead to gad about as if she were a native. Under her gown, she had on chemise and drawers, so she wasn’t anywhere close to naked, but it seemed as if she was. She’d never previously been in such a risqué situation.
She didn’t know what to think. As with the prior night when they’d snuggled under the palm trees, she realized she should have felt ashamed or guilty for her sinful conduct, but she didn’t feel much at all except an overwhelming sense of excitement.
Who would ever discover their misbehavior? She’d never tell a soul, and he was hardly the type to blab about the raucous incident. The beach was deserted for miles in each direction. How could it matter if she had fun with a man named Nine Lives?
He shifted her so her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, her legs around his waist. They moved farther out to where the waves were breaking. They weren’t that high, but with her not being a swimmer, they seemed big and scary.
“We’ll duck under the next one,” he said. “When I tell you, shut your eyes and hold your breath.”
“Don’t let go of me.”
“I never will, Helen. I’ll never let you go.”
A wave approached, and as it began to crest, he said, “Now.”
She did as he’d instructed, and it swept over their heads. In seconds, it swished on by. They ducked down another time or two, then they were past the surf and out where the water was very calm.
She was laughing, sputtering, wiping droplets from her face.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I haven’t drowned you?”
“I’m all right,” she insisted. “In fact, I’m very, very grand.”
They were nose to nose, floating, her body pressed to his in several intimate spots. Her garments were plastered to her skin, and with the fabric being so thin, she might not have been wearing any clothes.
The interval was charged with erotic energy, and it dawned on her that this was why young ladies were so meticulously chaperoned. Their virtue was constantly at risk. Other women—older, wiser women—understood what Helen had not. Passion was dangerous. Passion was addicting.
She’d always viewed herself as being very prim and prudent, but apparently, she had wicked tendencies. Was she more like her licentious father than she’d comprehended? How horrid! How frightening!
“You’re frowning all of a sudden.” He’d immediately noted her change of mood.
“I was thinking about my father.”
“You’re nestled in my arms, and you’re thinking about your father? Obviously, I haven’t sufficiently distracted you.”
She chuckled. “I’m so happy to be with you like this, and it has me wondering if I’m not more like him than I should be.”
“Are you worrying you might be a bit dissolute?”
“Yes, I’m worrying exactly that.”
“I like a female to be dissolute.”
“You would, you bounder.”
“If your father is such a wretch, why is he a minister? Why doesn’t he find a career where his awful habits wouldn’t matter?”
“He was raised to the church, and he’s really very good at sermonizing. People love to listen to him. Until…well…”
“Until when?”
“He has an eye for the ladies, so he gets himself into jams he can’t get out of, and he’s not very discreet, so he’s always caught.”
“With parishioners, you mean? He has affairs with women in his parish?”
“Ah…it’s been known to happen.”
“Why is he still a vicar?”
“He’s not. He’s been defrocked.”
“If he’s no longer a preacher, why is he on Tenerife? Didn’t you tell me he assumed he had a new church in Santa Cruz?”
“He’s joined a missionary society of evangelicals.”
“He sounds like a very interesting fellow.”
“He is—despite his flaws.”
“And he sired you. I deem that to be a marvelous development.”
“Yes, he claims I’m his signature achievement.”
“He’s correct.”
She couldn’t believe she’d mentioned her father’s foibles. It was too humiliating, and by traveling to the Canary Islands, she’d been determined to start over, to leave the past behind. Why confess her father’s sins? Why admit them?
She snuggled closer and rested her cheek on his chest. He kissed her hair, her shoulder. It was the dearest moment of her life.
“Don’t fret over him,” he said. “Not today.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t discuss his troubles much, do you?”
“Not hardly ever. Not unless I’m forced to.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“So am I.”
They were silent, floating. After awhile, she said, “When you took off your shirt, I saw the scars on your back.”
For the briefest instant, he froze, then he relaxed. “They’re such a part of me I forget they’re there. I forget how ghastly they look.”
“Do they hurt?”
“Not too much. If I’m in a place where the air is very dry, they’ll itch and chafe, but mostly, I ignore them.”
“Why were you flogged?”
“Oh, I could cite a dozen reasons.”
“It occurred more than once?”
“Yes. I have a smart mouth and a bad attitude. I’m not very subservient, so I never obey orders. It’s not in my nature.”
“I’ve noticed that about you.”
“I could never shut up when I ought. I nearly perished on a dozen different occasions.”
“That must be why your nickname is Nine Lives.”
“Yes. My will to survive is astonishing. I’m simply too stubborn to die, but could we talk about something else?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t like to remember my ordeal. It’s distressing. I had some difficult years, but they’re over, and it’s pointless to obsess.”
“I’d wipe away your scars if I could,” she told him.
He snorted with grim amusement. “You’re sweet, Helen. I wish I’d known you when I was still in England.”
“Why?”
“I was a better person then. I wasn’t the disreputable beast I am now.”
“You’re not a beast.” She paused, then laughed. “Well, not all the time anyway.”
“My temper is short, my patience has vanished, and I don’t suffer fools very graciously.”
“Who does?”
“Who indeed?”
He pushed off the bottom, and suddenly he seemed very grumpy.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Have I upset you with my questions?”
“A little, but I’ll get over it.”
“I’m not sorry I pried. You fascinate me, and I’m anxious to learn every detail there is to discover about you.”
“I fascinate you? If we’re both fascinated, we’ll probably grow to be annoying and ridiculous.”
“Probably. Will you ever tell me more about your trials and tribulations?”
He pondered, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Apparently, he was weary of conversation. He began kissing her again, and she joined in with incredible relish. She was happy as she’d never been, merry as she’d never been. In his arms, she felt pretty and special and cherished.
Although he was tough and dangerous, surrounded by his partner and his sailors, he appeared very alone to her. And very lonely. There were empty, broken spaces in his heart that had to be healed.
She provided a balm he desperately needed, and she made him happy too. She made him glad he was with her. Where would it lead? She had no idea, and she was eager to find out.
They kept on, the sun gradually finishing its journey across the sky. As it was sinking in the west, he drew away.
“We should climb out and ride back,” he said.
“I suppose we should.”
They stared, smiling, a thousand unspoken comments swirling between them.
She wanted to confide in him, wanted to tell him she was lonely too, that she was alone too. She wanted to tell him how grueling it had been to weather her father’s scandals, how ashamed she was to have their name disparaged by all. She wanted to tell him how excited she’d been to travel to Tenerife and start over.
But in light of the tragedies he’d endured, her paltry problems were so petty. If she mentioned them, he’d likely deem her a weakling or a dunce. He was so enamored of her, and she refused to dampen his esteem.
They turned toward the beach, the tide guiding them to shore. When they reached the sand, he set her on her feet.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, and she asked, “Will your horse be able to find his way in the dark?”
“Yes, don’t worry.”
“Do you imagine my dress is ruined?”
“You can wash it in the creek at camp. If it’s wrecked, I have plenty more. You can pick another.”
He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, then they plopped down and tugged on stockings, shoes, and boots. They stood, and he stopped for a moment to deliver a final, stirring kiss that rattled her senses and her bones.
He leapt into the saddle, then he swung her up in front of him. He murmured to the horse, and the animal lumbered off, evidently realizing they were in no hurry.
She snuggled herself to him, loving the feel of him, strong and steady against her back.
“This was the best day ever,” she said.
“I agree.”
“I wish it never had to end.”
“We can sneak off in the future. There’s no law that says we can’t.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be around tomorrow?”
“I have some business in town, but I’ll be here afterward.”
She was dying to ask what business he had to handle, but if he’d thought she should know, he would have told her.
“I’ll miss you while you’re away,” she said.
“I like the sound of that.”
He nuzzled her cheek, and she expected him to voice a profound remark, but he didn’t, and very soon, there was no further chance for conversation. Up ahead, she could see the camp’s fires.
They rode in, and Tom had been waiting for them. He ran over to balance her as she slid down.
“Goodnight, Helen,” Nine Lives said.
“Goodnight.”
“Sleep well.”
“I will.”
She assumed he’d dismount too, but he turned and trotted off in the direction from which they’d just come. She tried to watch him depart, but he was quickly swallowed by the shadows.
Tom watched him too, his gaze worshipful, as if Nine Lives was his hero.
“I’m betting supper is over,” she said to him.
“Yes, but I saved a plate for you. It’s in your tent.”
“Thank you. Is my sister there?”
“Ah…no.”
“It’s awfully late. Where is she?”
“She’s walking with my brother, Will.”
“Oh.”
He leaned nearer and whispered, “I think she’s sweet on him.”
At the disturbing news, there were a dozen responses she could have uttered, but she didn’t suppose a young boy should hear any of them.
“I’m grateful for the plate of food,” she said instead. “I’m starving, so it’s a marvelous treat. I’m delighted that you remembered me.”
“I like to be helpful,” he politely replied.
She went into her tent, a single lamp burning to light her way, but it was much too quiet. Becky was strolling with a swain—in the dark—when she shouldn’t be, and Nine Lives had dumped her off and flitted away as if he was glad to be shed of her.
After their hours of bliss and joy, she was suddenly and vividly reminded of how isolated she was. She felt like the most forlorn person in the world.