Captive Embraces (20 page)

Before Sirena could find the words or strength to answer him, he turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Too stricken to cry, too pained to move, Sirena heard him stamp down the stairs and, from below, there was the sound of shattering glass. Slowly, in choked, laggard movements, she dressed herself. Glancing once about the room where she had found meaning to her life only a short while ago, she closed the door behind her. Soundlessly, she descended the stairs and stepped out into the night, the foggy dark a cover for her shattered, humiliated heart.

 

Throughout the next weeks Sirena found herself much in demand to attend social functions given in her honor. Though she wore a mask of gaiety for the world to see, only Frau Holtz and Jacobus knew her true feelings.

But there was nobody more aware of what she was suffering than Sirena herself. She knew she was beyond controlling the circumstances of her life. She felt powerless to salvage what was left. The only reason she stayed in London was to be near Regan. Somewhere within her was the small hope that the damage between them could be repaired.

In the dark, lonely hours before dawn, while she lay in her solitary bed, scenes from their last time together flashed before her, warming her in a half-dream where she could feel Regan's arms about her and his lips adoring her. And from this she could draw strength. Regan loved her. Hadn't his arms told her, and his lips? And when he had turned her in his arms, hadn't he reveled in her offerings? Regan loves me, I know he does! And God help me, I love him so much! He doesn't want to admit it because of his pride, but he cares!

Then, just as the early sun was lighting the horizon, her spirits would fall into that desolate abyss. And before she at last closed her eyes in sleep, she would cry with the firm belief that she was only fooling herself. That if Regan loved her, he wouldn't have been so quick to misunderstand what she had meant when she had cried out. Yet loving Regan was the only thing she had left and no matter what pain it brought her, she could not give it up.

One afternoon, Sirena lounged after lunch deliberating on what costume she would wear that coming evening. Frau Holtz knocked perfunctorily and entered, bearing a small, silver tray on which was stacked invitations. Sirena smiled and picked up the first and then another. Near the bottom of the stack she picked up a formal, cream-colored square and laughed delightedly. “This,” she said, waving the invitation in the air, “is from Sir Stephan Langdon.” She had already explained that Stephan was Camilla's father. “He requests the honor of my company at dinner tomorrow. He would be delighted to be my escort at the Fallows' dinner party.”

Frau Holtz watched as Sirena quickly penned off her reply and handed it to the housekeeper for a footman to deliver. The aged woman trembled slightly at the sight of her mistress dancing about the room. What was the Mevrouw up to? Whatever it was, it had to do with the Mynheer.

“Listen to me, Frau Holtz. There's another message to be delivered. I think Jacobus is the man for it. Tyler Sinclair has asked me to accompany him to Waterford so I can examine a factory he wishes to buy. As there aren't any ships sailing on a regular basis there save Regan's and, of course, the small schooners that are not allowed to take passengers, ask Jacobus to go to the wharf and have Jan or Willem go to Tyler's office and say their ship is taking a few passengers. Whoever goes is to act as captain and his reason for going to Tyler should be to inquire as to the levies on Irish laces. When we sail to Ireland, you will accompany me as well as Jacobus.”

Frau Holtz frowned at the prospect of a sea voyage, no matter how short; then she found her spirits lifting a little. She had never been so bored and lacking something to do since she had come to this house in England. When the Mevrouw and Mynheer lived together, there was always something going on, sparks were always flying and one never knew if it were safe to leave one's bed from day to day. As always, when the Frau was upset, her thoughts went to Batavia and her life on the islands. How she missed it.

“Jacobus,” she called out into the greenhouse from the kitchen window. “The Mevrouw has an errand for you.” Quickly she explained and did not fail to see the man's eyes light at the prospect of going to sea again. While Jacobus might say he yearned for dry land, he longed to be once again on a rolling, pitching deck. But, he would never leave Sirena. He had promised to look after the Capitana and Frau Holtz and he would never go back on his word, no matter how miserable he was.

Several days later, baggage in tow, Sirena and Frau Holtz stepped aboard the
Sea Spirit.
Sirena winked roguishly at Jan, who welcomed his passengers aboard.

To all intents and purposes, Sirena and her crew behaved as though they were complete strangers to each other. Willem showed her to her cabin while the others were made comfortable in quarters which had been arranged for them. Sirena whispered to Willem that Sir Sinclair had a tendency toward billiousness in open water. Pray for calm seas.

Willem promised to do his best and, while she carried her baggage into the cabin, he asked how she found London.

“I hate it!” Sirena responded vehemently, her eyes stormy. “For some reason I find myself bound there.” She looked into Willem's face, scrutinizing what she read there. She smiled sadly, “I have this feeling, Willem, that something is going to happen to me. I keep telling myself it's my own sense of insecurity, but somehow I feel it's something more. Perhaps it's because I have no home, no roots. Oh, I have a house and I'm told I'm wealthy, but ... everything is gone,” she said softly. “Can you understand that?”

“Aye, Capitana. More than you realize.”

“I'm sorry, Willem. Of course you as a sailor understand what it is to be homeless. Forget what I said and sail this ship to Ireland, and I'll let the sea convince me these feelings are just attacks of a woman's fancy.”

The
Sea Spirit
was three days out to sea, headed for Waterford, Ireland. Sirena was strolling the deck, Tyler on one side of her, Frau Holtz meandering on the other, her eye to an approaching storm. Sirena, too, watched the encroaching gale warily. Another two hours and they would find themselves in the thick of it. Her flesh tingled and her hands itched to take the wheel, but she forced down her feelings.

Later, leaning over the rail, Sirena watched as the
Spirit
lifted and dipped and sliced through the diamond-shaped waves with all the grace and certainty of a water sprite. She showed she was made of more than just the wood and nails that man had hammered into her. Satisfaction was the
Spirit
's reward and the roar in her rigging was her ovation. On she raced through billows and groaning squalls. She met the wind and licked up the sea, dipping more than heeling, as if she knew she was the most magnificent ship beneath the sky.

“Sail ho!” came the cry from the rigging.

“Where away?” Willem called as Sirena narrowed her eyes to peer into the gloom.

“Due north and there's another sail on her bow!”

Sirena climbed onto a tackle box and watched as the brig held to her course. Wet down, her canvas straining, the ship held her speed for nearly an hour. With the wind coming aft, Sirena watched as her booms swung out under the reaches of her sails. The water boiled and churned aft until her wake was long and white. Even from this distance, Sirena could see the other ship gaining on the floundering brig.

Her own Sea Spirit secure, Sirena watched as the British flag whipped in the wind. She knew in a second what the pursuing ship's objective was, a brig carrying English cargo. Her eyes questioned Jan and he nodded. It was a pirate ship and bent on destroying the unsuspecting vessel. Sirena shook her head slightly. They would not interfere.

Tyler was watching with a keen eye as the brigantine tried to outrun the pirates.

Sirena fought to keep her agitation from showing as she watched the lightning play in brilliant sheets, frolicking over the line of earth and sky. The lady of the sea was unhappy. She was betrothed to the wind, a prodigal and unpredictable suitor.

“Look!” Tyler called excitedly, “it's really a pirate ship!” He could barely contain his excitement as a roar split the air and thick, black smoke eddied upward above the smoking brigantine.

“How does it feel to witness this, Tyler?” Sirena asked. “Do you still entertain thoughts of being a lawless seaman?”

“I'd give anything to be one of those pirates!” he exclaimed, his eyes shining brightly. “I've never seen anything like it. My father used to read me stories when I was a child and it was just like this, the storm and all,” he said, waving his hand at the flashes of lightning and the thundering sky. “That's van der Rhys' ship!” he suddenly exclaimed, recognizing the English brig for the first time. “I can tell by the flag she flies. I only saw it being loaded at the wharf just last month. He'll have a bloody fit!” Suddenly he caught himself, “Sorry, Sirena, I suppose those are a share of your profits, too.”

Sirena's eyes flashed suddenly. “Are you certain?” she shouted as a roar of thunder split the air.

“Positive!” Tyler announced, his eyes glued to the attacking pirate brigantine. “If I had that booty from the van der Rhys ship, I'd never have to go to those damnable offices again. I could be free to live as I like! I wouldn't have to live by rules and convention. I'd be free!”

“Do you want it?” Sirena asked quietly. In the roar of the storm Tyler wasn't certain he'd heard her or if he'd read her lips. He tore his glance away from hers and riveted his eyes on the pirate ship again.

“I'd give anything in this world for it,” he said huskily.

“Then you will have it!”

Tyler didn't notice her leave, so intent was he on his objective. When Sirena appeared, she was in her sea costume; the full-sleeved blouse tied snugly beneath her breasts; her tall, wide-topped boots which rose above her knees and accentuated the long length of thigh exposed by her cropped-off trousers. “All hands to the deck,” Sirena shouted, her legs firmly planted on the rolling planks. “We're going to run. The wind has changed to the south!”

Tyler's eyes nearly popped from his head as Sirena ordered, “Haul the yards about for the port tack. Move lively, men, there's not much time!” She looked over her shoulder and grinned at Tyler's obvious shock. “You wanted it. Station yourself securely or you might go overboard and you'll not live to enjoy your booty.”

Every crew member knew what lay in store for himself. Each manned his station. The Spirit would maneuver a short round to, and in so doing would pivot on her stern under headsails, piling up great lee waves on her starboard side. Sirena had to heist forward and reply to the ship's head with helm at the exact moment. She had to push aft at just the right time, when the helm was moved to shift her forward. She would be forced to lay oil from her bows and, most important, before the order to fill headsails, wait for a smooth. If not, she was in deadly peril.

One false move, no matter how minute, and the
Spirit
would be at the mercy of wind and sea. Sirena took the wheel and it was touch and go. The seamen's cries rained on the wind. The helm shifted and the jib sails and forestaysail rose, cracked in the wind, ballooned and, with the forward seamen playing tug-of-war on the sheets, the mighty foresail reefed, catching a fill of wind and buoying up the fore. The
Spirit
began to swing. The arrogant lady dug her nose into the rolling seas and pushed up more starboard. The lady came about in a boil of water and foam, her port side exposed to the full force of the ferocious wind. She shuddered, heeled dangerously in the vise of windward and lee seas, rocking, unsure of herself. Then the helm shifted. To cries aft and forward, the headsails spilled their wind as the aft gave bright sail to bear. Foresail was set on the fore and main, yards readied on the port tack sprouted sail. The helm met the press of canvas. The graceful lady groaned, trembled, heeled and shot forward.

“Smartly done,” Jan yelled from the stern.

“Willem, the wheel,” Sirena called.

“Magnificent,” Willem complimented.

“We must make our guest happy,” Sirena smiled, satisfied with a job well done.

For better than two hours the
Sea Spirit
pursued the pirate ship. And when they at last had her within reach, Sirena shouted, “Hear this! We take the marauding pirate brig! When we have her, gut her. A pirate on open seas is fair game to any and all. The prize goes to our guest,” she said emphatically.

“Aye, Capitana,” the crew shouted as they readied a grappling hook to board the brig bearing the Jolly Roger. “The fight's gone out of her and it's all she can do to stay afloat after that storm. A few of the English trader's shots were well aimed from the look of her crew. If we don't take her booty now, it'll go to the bottom,” Franco yelled.

Sirena searched out Tyler, who was hanging on to the mizzenmast for dear life, his face pale and white. “Poor Tyler, you're ill.”

Sinclair, his hold on the ropes slipping, eyed the long-legged creature before him with awe. He tried to speak, but words would not come.

Sirena brandished her cutlass in the air and laughed aloud. “I'd take the brig for you but she's rotten with toredo worms and practically worthless. The cargo is yours and, within the hour, will be secure in the hold of the
Sea Spirit.
It's all yours, Tyler, but remember, you said you would do anything for the booty. One day I'll lay claim to that promise.”

“You must be ... you can't be! I thought it was a story, a fabrication made for amusement! But you are real!” he exclaimed with excitement. “You are the Sea Siren!”