Captive Embraces (5 page)

Caleb stood next to his father at eye level, a replica of his father except for his dark hair. “I'm pleased you accept me as a man. Then you understand my feelings and have come to take me out of school.”

“No, Caleb, that is not my intention,” Regan answered with a deep sigh. Why did everything have to come to an opposition of wills? Caleb might be his own son, yet he was more like Sirena than Regan cared to admit. At times it seemed to him that Caleb had never had another mother; that Tita, the Javanese princess who had birthed the boy, had never existed. It was Sirena who had formed the boy's spirit. And like Sirena, Caleb spoke his mind and was willing to fight to win his objective.

“Father, I gave you my word I would stay until the end of the term, but when it is over, I'm leaving. I'm through with this dark land that is Holland. Nor will I stay with you in Spain. I'm going back to Java.”

“You're going back for Sirena, is that it? I always knew that if it came to a choice, you would choose her over me, your own father.”

“I just said I was going back to Java. I plan to sign on a ship with Captain Dykstra. I'll look in on Sirena and see how she's faring without a man in the house. You shouldn't have left her alone on the island,” he said flatly.

“And you refuse to forget it or understand why! You'll always hold it against me, is that what you're saying?” Regan's face deepened into an angry frown and he impatiently tossed back the fringe of white-blond hair which fell across his tanned brow.

“No, Father, that's what you're saying,” Caleb parried. “I have no mind for school and being a gentleman. I'm going back to sea where I can be what I want to be. And if my going where I belong means I lose my father... ” Caleb shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of pretended indifference. He loved Regan and Sirena and he rationalized that what they did with their own lives had little to do with him. But the pain was still there and now it rose in his throat like bitter gall. He hoped that Regan would not test him and refuse to understand his feelings.

“This is not what I came all the way to discuss with you,” Regan said quietly, settling himself upon a stiff, hard-backed chair and reaching in his pocket for a cheroot.

“When I saw Sirena wasn't with you, I immediately surmised that,” Caleb lowered his voice. He searched the inside of his own jacket for a black cheroot which he lit with a glowing taper from the ever-present fire that had slight effect on the damp room. Offering Regan a light, he tossed the taper into the flames and sat opposite his father.

Regan had never seen Caleb smoke until now and was strangely rankled. Chalking it up to regret that his son was so close to manhood, Regan forced down his misgivings when he noticed how appropriate the thin, dark roll of tobacco seemed in Caleb's large, capable hands.

“Why are you so hostile to me, Caleb? I thought I had explained the entire situation in my letter. If you are truly on the threshold of becoming a man, surely you must make an effort to understand and accept the fact that Sirena and I are a thing of the past.”

“Even a man can't ignore cruelty, and that's how you're behaving. By now, word must have reached Sirena that the
Spanish Lady
was sunk off the coast of Spain. What torment Sirena must be going through believing you are dead! I can only hope my letter explaining that you are alive and well reaches her before she suffers overmuch. Even now, I'm puzzled as to why you've come here.” Caleb eyed Regan boldly, unnerving his father.

“There's a matter we must discuss. I was hoping for a quiet hour alone with you so I could explain something to you.”

Caleb's eyes were dark and cold as he looked at Regan, daring his father to say what he had come to say. Caleb, himself, was silent, his expression hostile. Under his father's scrutiny, he stood and walked the few paces to the fireplace to flick his ashes onto the burning logs.

“Sit down, Caleb. We must talk.”

“I prefer to stand, thank you.”

Regan's eyes were speculative as he looked at his son. The shock of seeing this tall, muscular youth was still something he could hardly come to terms with. His voice was hesitant and then gradually it quickened, gathering momentum as he watched the angry look in Caleb's eyes turn to incredulity. “When I left the islands, I knew in my gut Sirena would never come with me. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. I was convinced she would never leave the island nor would she leave Mikel's grave site. You must understand that I sincerely believed this. I still do. Our life together is over. From now on, it is only we two. When I was picked up by the ship that rescued us, I went to Spain and met the Córdez business manager in order to explain the circumstances of Sirena's and my parting.”

Regan cleared his throat as though he were reluctant about continuing. “I have taken over the handling of all the Córdez holdings.” Suddenly, his voice thickened and his agate-blue eyes took on a faraway look. “I know I must make a new life for myself and that is what I intend to do. In fact, I've already begun. I've divorced Sirena,” he said huskily.

Caleb kept his silence but his eyes accused, judged, and found his father guilty. Without another glance in Regan's direction, he turned and walked from the room.

“Caleb, come back here,” Regan shouted. “That part of our life is over! Finished! We have to make a new beginning here!” His eyes searched the long corridor, willing Caleb to return. He went back into the front parlor and sat down heavily, his heart hammering in his chest. Head reeling, he smacked one large, bronze fist into the other. Caleb was gone, just as Mikel was gone. Just as Sirena was gone.

Caleb would never forgive him, never come back to him. The same woman who had returned Caleb to him was taking his son away. What he had now was a divorce from a woman he loved dearly, and a young woman of excellent breeding who was demanding marriage in exchange for her wealth and virtue. God! What had he done?

His broad, muscular shoulders slumped as he looked toward the doorway where Caleb had taken his exit. Something churned in the pit of his stomach. Was this what Sirena had felt when he left her? Was this the damnable emptiness she lived with, this total loss?

The
Rana
berthed in Cádiz, Spain, nine weeks after leaving Batavia. The voyage, usually taking anywhere from twelve weeks to five months, had been speedy owing to excellent weather and a good wind. Since reaching the northern limits of the African continent, Sirena had discontinued wearing her familiar sea garb. Wisely, she realized as they reached the more routinely traveled shipping lanes, her abbreviated costume of slashed short breeches and a blouse tied snugly beneath her full breasts would raise questioning eyes. Worse yet, it was possible her reputation as the Sea Siren might have preceded her arrival into the more civilized reaches of the world and being recognized would make her an easy mark for some adventure-seeking sailors wishing to gain the reputation of having conquered the infamous female pirate.

Spain's ancient seaport was buzzing with activity. Longshoremen were loading and unloading cargo and the horizon was impeded by a forest of ship's masts.

As Sirena leaned over the quarterdeck rail drinking in the familiar sights about her, a deep anxiety in the pit of her innards began to creep insidiously around her spine. Throughout the voyage, she had convinced herself beyond doubt that she had left Batavia because of Regan's manipulations and trickery. He
couldn't
have gone down with his ship! This was just his way of luring her off Java.

Yet, throughout the voyage, she had found it more and more difficult to discount the possibility that she might be wrong. Sirena bit into her lower lip, her green eyes narrowed against the fear which kept bobbing to the surface like the cork on the end of a fisherman's line. Regardless of Regan's expertise, regardless of anything, she knew that the sea was a powerful mistress and oftentimes did win the battle she waged with the sailing vessels that dared to cross her domain!

Sirena had been wrestling with this thought ever since Captain Dykstra had brought her the news, even though she had been careful not to admit it to herself. But when they had sighted the tall cliffs of Gibraltar, she would find herself more and more often whispering silent words of prayer that Regan would be found safe and sound. She loved him, God, how she loved him! Please God, let him be well!

Sirena was broken from her pathetic prayers by a harsh cry from the
atracar obreros,
those longshoremen who made their livelihood by unloading the wealth of the world from ship's holds.

“Hey, Capitán,” one burly, sweat-beaded
obrero
called to Jan, assuming he was the Captain of the
Rana,
“what you carry in your hold? Feathers? You ride high on the water.”

“No cargo,
amigo,”
Jan answered. “You'll find no work here!”

“Where you coming from, Capitán?”

“Java, the East Indies.”

“And no cargo?” The burly dock worker shook his head incredulously. He turned to his small contingent of men and tapped a finger to his temple.

Sirena laughed. Jan turned and looked at her, his face flushed with color. “They think you're loco, Jan. Who ever heard of traveling halfway around the world without a cargo to make the journey worthwhile?”

“Perhaps I should have referred him to you, Capitana,” Jan teased. “If he learned that a woman captains this ship, he would forgive the stupidity of sailing without cargo and merely think me crazy for sailing under a female.”

“A hungry woman!” Sirena laughed. “I wonder if Jacobus has any of those biscuits and hot coffee left. Come, Jan. I'll need you to run interference for me if Jacobus has already cleaned his galley and stowed away the larder.”

Over old Jacobus' protests, Sirena and Jan leaned their elbows on the galley table and sipped at their steaming mugs of coffee. “Tell me, Capitana, how long has it been since you were last in Cádiz?”

“Tio Juan, my sister Isabella and I sailed from Cádiz just before we. arrived in the Indies. Like all old cities, it hasn't changed from what I could see of it from the quarterdeck.”

“Then you are familiar with the city?”

“Certainly,” Sirena answered. “A grand place it is, too. I always loved it when I was a child. As a matter of fact, my family still owns a magnificent
casa
not far from the dock area. It sits up on a hill and from there it is possible to see the ships in port. It belonged to Tio Juan, but now it is mine.” Sirena's eyes turned murky with sorrow. “How I loved to visit my uncle when I was a child, Jan. Isabella and I would race up and down the cobblestoned courtyard and our dueña, Magdelena, would throw up her hands and screech that we were children of the devil. Then, Isabella and I would go somewhere and hide and giggle till our sides hurt. Tio Juan would listen to our dueña's complaints about our incorrigible behavior and pretend to be angry with us. But all the time he was scolding us for Señora Magdelena's benefit, we could see his eyes twinkling and a barely concealed smile hiding behind his carefully trimmed mustache.”

“You loved your Tio Juan very much, Capitana. It is there to be seen in your eyes.”

“Yes, Jan. Both Isabella and myself cherished him very much. But it was my father who was my hero. He was tall and dashing and always carefully groomed. I thought he was the most magnificent person ever put on earth. He was greatly respected by all and feared by most. But for my sister and me he was the kindest, most loving man. His arms were always open for us to run to and he would swing us up, high above his head. And he loved us to a fault.”

“And it was from him you learned the ways of the sea?”

“Yes. Isabella and I were very different in nature.” Sirena's voice became husky with emotion.

“If it pains you to speak of her, Capitana, I will understand.”

“No, Jan. It has been so long since I have spoken of Isabella, though she is never very far from my thoughts. When we became of age, Isabella and I were sent to the convent school. She was the model of decorum while I... I was...”

Jan smiled. “I can imagine. I can see where the good nuns had their hands full with you.”

“How right you are,” Sirena laughed, and picked up her mug for another swallow of coffee. “In fact, it reached a point where my father was implored to take me out of the school. Isabella remained behind with the nuns and I traveled the world aboard my father's ships. It was from him I learned to sail the seas. Tutors were brought aboard to teach me, and my father insisted that I excel in my studies. While he pampered me in almost every way thinkable, he was, nevertheless, a taskmaster. If I did poorly with my studies, I was forbidden my turn at the wheel or my lesson in fencing. These things I savored, so it wasn't often I gave my tutors any trouble. Summers, Isabella would travel with us. It was she who tried to undo my hellion ways by showing me the manners of a lady. Poor Isabella, how often I would hear her say that I was giving her gray hair at the tender age of twelve! You see, Jan, I was surrounded by gentle, loving people and my early years were very happy.”

“Aye, I can see that. Was it on a voyage with your father that you came to the Indies?”

“No.” Sirena's eyes became overcast again. “If my father were sailing this ship, the fates wouldn't have turned against us as they did. Tio Juan was a businessman and knew very little about commanding a crew. My father had already died. It was due to a drunken, stupid captain that the
Rana
was attacked by pirates and the lives of Tio Juan and Isabella were lost.” Sirena's last words were whispered, charged with sadness. She would never forget what had happened to them on that cursed day. A happenstance that had changed her life forever.

Frau Holtz burst into the galley. “Mevrouw, if you are to go ashore, it would be best if you began to dress. You can't go about the city dressed in the gown you are wearing, it is not befitting someone of your station.”

Sirena glanced down at the drab, light woolen gown she had hastily donned over her sea costume before they sailed into port. “Yes, I'm coming, Frau Holtz. I was just reminiscing with Jan.” Placing her mug down on the rough-hewn table, Sirena stood up resignedly. “While I am changing, Jan, take a walk on the dock and find out what you can about Regan's ship. I won't leave the
Rana
until you report back.”

As Sirena pushed her head through the delicate lace camisole which covered her stays, Frau Holtz went about getting her shoes and gossamer stockings. “Do you think Jan will learn anything about the Mynheer's whereabouts?” the housekeeper asked. Sirena noted that the woman was very careful to omit the very real likelihood that Regan might have gone down with his ship.

“Fairly certain. I told Jan to check in with the harbormaster. Most assuredly, if anyone knows the circumstances surrounding Regan's ship, that official does. I imagine it's only a matter of time now and I'll come face to face with my husband.” Sirena tried to make her voice as casual as possible but a glimmer of her anxiety came through.

“
Ja
, most certainly, the harbor master will know,” the Frau agreed. “Am I to believe you no longer think the Mynheer has tricked you, Mevrouw?”

“Yes. After thinking many hard hours on it, Regan would never tempt the fates by pretending to have lost the
Lady
at sea. But I'm certain Regan is safe and sound. He's much too expert a seaman to become a casualty at sea. Besides, how many times he's boasted that he has more lives than a cat.”

“Ja,”
Frau Holtz grumbled. Her heavy brows came together in a look of consternation. Even cats only had nine lives and Regan's colorful and adventurous past would seem to suggest that he already had outdone that number.

 

Three days later neither Sirena nor her crew had found any information about Regan. It was only known that the
Spanish Lady
had gone down off the coast of Spain as she traveled toward Cádiz.

Each time Sirena had gone in search of details concerning Regan she had started out in high spirits, certain of learning his whereabouts. Each evening she had come back to the
Rana
more defeated than the day past. Her crew searched earnestly for word of Regan van der Rhys, but they too returned to the ship without news.

Sirena's optimism began to flag. She had tried in vain to locate Señor Arroya, Tio Esteban, the Córdez family business manager. She knew without a doubt that if Regan had come into Cádiz, he would have seen Esteban Arroya concerning the takeover of the Córdez fortunes. But Tio Esteban was somewhere in Salamanca and was not expected to return for several months.

At first Sirena considered going to Salamanca in search of Tio Esteban, but the possibility of missing him somewhere along the way was deterring. She had to be doing something, anything! Besides, no one in his offices could give her assurance that he had not traveled on to Italy to visit with his daughter who had married a banker from Milan. The prospect of sitting in Cádiz awaiting her uncle's arrival grated on Sirena and all indications pointed to Regan having gone under with his ship.

Hour by hour Sirena puzzled the problem, becoming more depressed and fearful. Regan! Regan! Her heart cried. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. “Please, God,” she whispered, tears welling behind her lids and gathering on her thick lashes. “Please, God. Give Regan his life, don't let him be dead. Please, God, please. I was such a fool, I should have listened to him, I should have left Java with him. Forgive me for putting my grief for my dead baby above the love I have for my husband. Above You, God. We've all lost so much, suffered so much. Me, Regan, Caleb. Please, don't let me lose the only love in my life. Please, God, please!”

On into the night Sirena prayed, and it was morning when Frau Holtz found her slumped beside her narrow bunk, tearstained face at last peaceful in sleep, her sister Isabella's rosary clutched tightly in her fist.

Sirena refused to eat her breakfast as well as her lunch. She stayed secluded in her cabin, thoughts of Regan whirling through her head. She remembered how on their last night together, they had battled each trying to impose their will on the other. She shed bitter tears when she recalled how long she had pushed Regan from her. How many nights she had lain in her solitary bed castigating him over and over in her mind, refusing to regard his need for her, refusing to admit that she needed him. And when at last they had found one another again, it had been like a sip of cool water after an interminable dry trek on the desert. They had sipped and then drank deeply, at the well of love and tenderness they were each capable of giving. And after their loving they had lain in each other's arms, at last finding peace.

And now this torment. If only she knew for certain whether Regan lived, or had died at sea. She couldn't go on this way. This not knowing was killing her as surely as an arrow through the heart. And there was no one, nobody to whom she could go! She had rejected not just Regan, but Caleb as well. How unfair she had been, how selfish! Caleb was more than a son to her. He had been her friend, her little brother, and no son of her own flesh could ever take his place in her heart. Yet she had actually hated the fact that it was Caleb who lived and Mikel who had died.

Caleb! As if seeing the light for the first time, Sirena cried aloud, “Caleb! Regan would have made contact with him! Frau Holtz! Jacobus! Jan!” she called excitedly, flinging open the narrow door of her cabin. “Make ready to sail! To Holland!”