The Pirate and the Pagan (67 page)

She wandered ashore, basking for hours on the hot sand, then she would go for solitary walks, picking up exquisite shells, letting tiny crabs run across her bare toes while the seabirds wheeled and screamed above her head.

She allowed herself to think again. It was painful at first until she got back into the habit of it. And the thought that came again
and again to her lifted the corners of her mouth in a sad smile. Fate had chosen for her, and it had chosen Rory. Soon she would go to him, and she would go willingly. He had saved her life and she owed him everything.

Late one warm afternoon she felt strong enough to swim again. Rory watched over her anxiously, but when she climbed back aboard and toweled her dark curls into a soft halo about her head, he grinned at her and said, “I think it’s time I took you home to Helford Hall.”

She recoiled from him. “No!” she said sharply. “I don’t want to see him.”

“You must. We struck a bargain, you see. I was to rescue you, then I was to take you home to him.”

“No!” she cried in great panic. “Why would you force me to this?” she demanded.

“Hellcat, when are you going to face the truth? It is he you love, and only he.”

She stared at him aghast.

He was the first to lower his eyes. “You know which cabin I’m using. When you are ready to face the truth, you know where to find me.”

She sat with her knees drawn up, resting her chin upon them as she watched the crimson sunset. When the night sky turned from crimson to black, she stood up and fetched a sigh to her very toes. What was the use of pretending? It seemed everyone knew anyway.

She gathered Rory’s white djellaba robe about her and padded down the companionway to his cabin. She opened the door and gasped in shock. “Ruark!”

He had just finished shaving and he was brushing a black substance into his hair. “Where’s Rory?” she demanded.

“There is no Rory,” he said quietly. “There is only me, Ruark Rory Helford.”

She stared at him in disbelief. That could not be. He was surely taller and broader than Rory, and he held his dark head with a greater pride. Ruark had a dark heritage in his blood, that heritage of violence and disquiet which seethed through the men of Cornwall but had not touched the youthful, carefree Rory. Lord Ruark Helford seethed with a dark vein of passion. Yet she suddenly knew he spoke the truth. Her eyes had been opened at last and she wondered unbelievably how she had not seen it before. Her hand
went to her throat. “Does any but your crew know?” she whispered.

“The King,” he said quietly. “It was Charles’s suggestion in the first place to assume two identities. Whenever he wants to resurrect Black Jack Flash, I always tell him Rory is dead, but he flashes that charming smile and says, ‘A convenient rumor the scoundrel circulates for some dark reason of his own, I have no doubt.’”

She almost smiled.

He held out his hand. “Lady Helford … Summer … will you let me take you home?”

She moved forward slowly and at last placed her hand in his. “If you will give me time to adjust.” She withdrew her hand shyly. “I just can’t comprehend it all at once.”

He wanted to pledge to her that he would spend the rest of his life loving her, that he would make it up to her somehow, or die in the attempt, but he knew she was not ready for impassioned speeches and vows.

    When the
Phantom
dropped anchor in a sheltered cove of the Helford River in the late afternoon, Summer’s heart began to thud uncontrollably at the thought of seeing Ryan again. She was certain he wouldn’t even remember her, but that wouldn’t matter at all so long as he was healthy and happy. She donned a lavender silk gown she had left aboard the
Phantom
when she had bought all the fancy clothes in The Hague, but she scrupulously avoided the mirror. She did not need to be reminded that her clothes hung on her and her hair was still too unfashionably short.

Ruark came down to the cabin to escort her home. A slight frown formed between his brows as he watched her wash her hands for the third time. There was still such a gulf between them. They hadn’t even talked yet. Oh, they exchanged polite pleasantries whenever they encountered one another but they hadn’t
talked,
they hadn’t
touched,
His brow cleared. He would have to be the one to breach the gap. Perhaps when she got the baby back, it would go a long way to healing her.

She felt his strong arm supporting her back as they went through the front doors of Helford Hall and she was most grateful for it. Her knees had been threatening to turn into butter ever since she’d stepped off the ship. The hall was filled with masses of cream-colored roses and there stood Mrs. Bishop holding a small, sturdy replica of Ruark Helford. He was not really a baby, he was a one-year-old
scrap of Satan with black silk curls and a laughing, red mouth.

Summer’s throat closed painfully and she found it almost impossible to speak. Mrs. Bishop tried not to stare too rudely at Lady Helford. She realized that she must have been ill and was still so fragile a strong wind would blow her away. Nevertheless, she held out her son to her. Summer shook her head and quickly put her hands behind her back to conceal her burned thumb. Then in a low voice she said, “Mrs. Bishop, you have done such a wonderful job with him. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Mr. Burke came forward then. He and Summer looked at each for long silent moments then his right eyelid lowered in a conspiratorial wink and she knew that everything was going to be all right. He took her arm possessively and said, “Come up to your chamber, my lady, and tell me if there is anything I’ve forgotten.”

She was grateful that he had not assembled all the servants to gawk at her and she realized in that moment that the goodwill of this man meant more to her than that of the King and all the court.

Ruark took his son from the arms of Mrs. Bishop and lifted him onto his shoulders, then they galloped around the house and out into the gardens like wildmen. It was impossible to tell which Helford was enjoying himself more. When they got to the fountain, Ruark set him on his feet and watched his son fondly as he reached into the water to try to catch the flashing fish. “Ryan, old man, we have a big job ahead of us. Somehow we have to pierce the protective carapace she’s built about herself.” His hand rested momentarily on the black silk curls, so like Summer’s. “Well, you’ve stolen my heart and I believe you will steal your mother’s.”

Ryan sloshed water all over his father and laughed recklessly.

“You little sod!”

“Sod! Sod!” cried Ryan in imitation.

“How come you learn swear words quicker than other words?” Ruark demanded, laughing, but Ryan was busy climbing over the edge of the fountain and his father had to fish him out.

Mrs. Bishop was outraged when they returned to the house and scolded Ruark loudly for wetting the child.

“You’re going to bathe him before you put him to bed, aren’t you?” inquired Ruark.

“Of course,” said Mrs. Bishop.

“So what’s the difference?” he asked with annoying male logic.
Then he said, “Bish, after you’ve had your dinner I want you to take yourself off to Roseland for the night. You can take a letter for me to Spencer. He’ll bring you back tomorrow.”

“But Ryan might need me,” she pointed out.

“He needs his mother more, Bish. And she needs him,” he added.

    Mr. Burke had a supper tray sent up to Lady Helford’s chamber and Summer had just finished eating when Ruark came in, in shirt sleeves. She betrayed her thoughts by the blush upon her cheek, which told Ruark she was wondering if he intended to sleep in this chamber. He had no intentions of forcing himself upon her, but he knew that intimacy had to be reestablished between them. He glanced at the food she had left on the tray and said, “Can’t you eat more than that, love?” He took the cover from a silver dish and saw the first strawberries of the season. He helped himself to one and took the dish across to her. She was sitting beside the open French door which led to the balcony. That balcony she had thought never to enjoy again.

“You were always particularly partial to strawberries,” he reminded her as he held one out for her. She smiled and let him put it into her mouth.

“Mmm,” she sighed. “I’ll be spoiled rotten within twenty-four hours.”

“It will give me the greatest pleasure in the world to spoil you,” he said, putting the silver dish in her hands and going to the bedside cabinet to take out her rubies. He opened the velvet cases for her and she touched the glowing jewels with a tentative finger.

“How lovely they are,” she murmured.

“They are lovelier when you are wearing them. May I put them on for you?” he asked softly.

She remembered how she’d vowed that he would clasp them about her neck again before she was done with him. How willful and worldly she’d been in those days. How selfish and greedy she had allowed herself to become. Now it was like getting a second chance in life. Never again would she take a beautiful gown or a sumptuous meal for granted. She would be deeply appreciative of the life she would have with this man.

His hands fastened the necklace at the nape of her neck and his fingers could not resist touching the springy little curls which lay there. “You are beautiful,” he breathed.

“I know I’m not,” she said wistfully. “You’re just being kind.”

“Me? Kind?” he asked in mock amazement.

She giggled, but sobered quickly. “I must let Auntie Lil know I’m rescued.”

Ruark drew up a chair close to hers. His eyes were filled with teasing amusement.

“Lil told me you’d gone off with Rory, that you were in love with him.”

“And so I was,” she teased back.

He grew serious. “She really believes you’ve been with Rory. She has no idea you were imprisoned. There’s no need to enlighten her, nor anyone, for that matter.”

A great weight was removed from her and relief showed in her eyes.

Then he added gently, “Anyone, that is, except me. How did you come to be there, love?”

Her eyes flew to his. “It was Oswald,” she said at last.

“God’s flesh, I might have guessed,” he said furiously. “The man hated me with a vengeance. I’m so very, very sorry, my little love, that he took his hatred for me out on you.” He went on his knees before her. “I swear to you, Summer, I will track him down and kill the bastard.”

“He’s dead,” she said low. “I killed him.”

He stared at her in horror. “Christ! What did he do to you?” Then his voice took on a tender, sad note. “Did he rape you?” His hands covered hers gently, trying to lend her courage to tell him the worst.

She shook her head. “He made no sexual demands on me.” She smiled a sad half smile. “Perhaps that would have been easier, but Oswald wasn’t a normal man.”

Ruark’s throat closed in frustrated fury as a teardrop rolled down her cheek. He brushed it away with gentle fingers and braced himself while she got it all out.

Summer loved him far too much to cause him much more distress, so she said softly, “He simply enjoyed being cruel. He branded my thumb and degraded us by cutting our hair and starving us. Let’s never speak of it again.”

His arms enfolded her and clasped her to his heart. “I’ll try to make it up to you, beloved.”

“Ru, you already have,” she assured him with all her heart.

R
uark took her small hand to his lips and kissed her scarred thumb, then he gathered her into his arms and held her until long after her sobs had subsided. She lay in his lap, sharing the big chair like they had done in the early days of their marriage.

Finally she lifted her head and braved looking into his eyes. She saw only compassion and love. “I’m so very tired,” she said simply.

He lifted her against his heart and took her to their great bed. With gentle hands he helped to undress her and pulled the soft covers up about her neck as he tucked her in securely. “Sleep, darling,” he murmured. “I love you very much.”

Totally safe for the first time since they had had their first quarrel, she fell into an undisturbed sleep. In the middle of the night something woke her and she sat up quickly, sensing that something was wrong. Ruark stood naked, distractedly running one hand through his hair, while his other arm clutched a wailing Ryan.

Ruark called to her helplessly, “Summer, Summer, the young bugger won’t stop howling.”

“Where’s Mrs. Bishop?”

“I banished her to Roseland for the night. I thought we could handle him ourselves,” he said sheepishly. “I went down to get him
some milk; I even warmed it, but the young bugger threw it on the floor.”

For a moment she panicked, then she laughed and held out her arms to them. In three great strides he was beside the bed. He handed her their agitated son and climbed in beside her. Summer’s arms gathered the baby to her breast and she rocked him back and forth, making soothing, motherly noises which Ryan found much to his liking. He clung to her desperately, no longer the willful one-year-old, but a baby again for the darkest hours of the night, needing to be cuddled and loved until he drifted off into a trustful sleep.

Their baby lay enfolded between their two bodies. Ruark’s fingers entwined with Summer’s and they spent the lovely warm, dark hours of the night whispering love words and exchanging thousands of gentle kisses, while their three heartbeats mingled and bonded forever. Ruark prayed silently, Dear God, I don’t ask for anything more, just don’t take anything away.