Captive Splendors (22 page)

Sara gasped, all senses frozen, her breath locked in her lungs. It couldn't be! Her mind was playing tricks on her! “Malcolm! Is that you?” she cried in a shocked voice. “Malcolm, how can you be here? Wren said you were dead!” At last believing her senses, she rushed toward him. “Malcolm, Malcolm!” Her arms locked around his neck, and she buried her face in his chest. “Oh, Malcolm, I thought you were dead. My love, we've found each other, and I'll never let you go. Never!” she cried vehemently as she clung to him.

Malcolm was stunned. “Sara! How did you get here? Darling child!” he exclaimed, his mind working furiously to determine what advantage she could serve him. Suddenly he remembered his disfigurement. “Don't look at me, Sara,” he pleaded. “I've suffered a misfortune that's seriously altered my appearance. That's why I left England, thinking I would never see you again. I'd rather suffer the fate of an outcast than bear the pain of having you see me as I am now.” His words and tone were carefully calculated to elicit her pity. “It was always you I loved, darling Sara. Never Wren. Wren did this to me—to us,” he added meaningfully. “I told her it was you I loved and would cherish for the rest of my days. She turned wild and took a hot poker to my face, saying if she couldn't have me, no other woman would. She tried to kill me, and there are days I wish she had. Anything rather than have you see me this way. I broke your heart and knew in my own you would never have me after the way I had made you suffer. Now I'm disfigured, a horror, and it's too late, my darling Sara. Please forgive me.”

“Malcolm, darling, I love you, and a little scar couldn't change my devotion to you. If it did, what would that say for my love? Let me look at you, please, darling.”

Slowly Malcolm turned the left side of his face toward the light, his anxious eyes willing her to tell him that his disfigurement wasn't as hopeless as he imagined. Sara's face whitened as a gorge rose in her throat. God! What had she just promised to this monster? Fighting to regain control of herself and to hold in check the trembling that had seized her, she wrapped her arms about him, pity for his condition and fresh hatred for Wren consuming her. Wren had done this to him—purposely, vindictively, with malice. Wren had reduced Malcolm to hiding in the depths of a ship, afraid to show his face in public, nearly maddened by the loss of the one thing which had been his mainstay besides herself—his good looks.

Her mind rambled and raced, jumping from the past and then into the future. A future with a man who resembled a gargoyle. The scab on his face was crusted; his forehead was puckered from the burn; his blinded eye stared sightlessly from behind a contorted eyelid that would never close again. Never again would Sara dream of being the envy of other women when they saw her sported on Malcolm's arm. She would be the object of their pity. Women would run away from Malcolm in terror instead of pursuing him. Oh, God! she thought wildly. Why had she followed Aubrey Farrington down into the reaches of Hell?

Malcolm's hands tightened about her, seeking, pressing, attempting to arouse.

“You smell, Malcolm. Poor darling,” she added hastily, “doesn't that old man provide you with soap and water?” There was no way Malcolm was going to seduce her in this stench-filled room, smelling like a rutting pig. She had to get out of here before he overpowered her. Merciful God, she didn't know which eye to look into.

“Did you hear what I said to you, Sara? Your friend, Wren, did this to me. What are you going to do about it? I know from Farrington that she's aboard this ship. If I could get out of here, I'd finish her off myself.”

“What would you have me do with her, Malcolm? Why did she do this to you? I don't for one minute believe that story you just told me. Wren's not violent, excepting her tongue. She is aboard ship, that's true. As a matter of fact, my sister-in-law, Wren and I share Captain van der Rhys' cabin.” Her voice took on a sudden lilt when she mentioned Caleb, which didn't escape Malcolm's attention.

He sensed her withdrawal and was engulfed with rage. “Say it, Sara. My face offends you. Suddenly you find you no longer love me. You're comparing me with your Captain van der Rhys, and I come out a poor second. Say it!”

Sara suddenly felt very powerful, more powerful than she had ever felt in her life. “Actually, Malcolm, you sicken me. You're right, I no longer love you. I doubt if I ever did love you. And yes, Caleb does come out first. Any day now I expect a proposal of marriage. It's over between us, Malcolm. It was over the day you decided you wanted Wren van der Rhys and her dowry. I wasn't good enough for you, and now I've decided that you aren't good enough for me. Good fortune to you, Malcolm. When we get to America, perhaps they'll employ you to frighten off those savage Indians.” She enjoyed her cruelty toward him. “And don't worry, I won't give away your secret. I'll tell no one that you're hiding down here with the rats. By the way, why
are
you hiding? Passage for this voyage was very cheap. It wouldn't have anything to do with the captain's seeking retribution for something you've done to his sister, would it?” Seeing her suspicions confirmed in Malcolm's expression, she laughed, the sound mirthless and harsh in the stillness of the locker box.

Malcolm wanted to slap her, to hit her till her teeth rattled, but he knew she would fight back, and he had already had a taste of what a woman would do to protect herself. He no longer had any control over Sara, and the realization frightened and emasculated him. All he needed was another jab to his good eye, and he might as well lie down and die. Women were the root of all evil. He had heard that Sara's brother was always spouting off about the evil that festered in a woman's breast. How right Bascom was.

“Ta-ta, darling,” Sara cooed as she slammed the door behind her and quickly shot the bolt home.

The darkness of the ship and the soft lap of the water against the sides was like a balm to Sara's uneasiness. She felt as though a mountain had been lifted from her shoulders. She was free of Malcolm, free of Bascom and free to go to Caleb. Caleb was her answer, her salvation.

Sara's feet took her up the fore ladder, through the hatch and onto the deck. There was no one about, only the seaman on watch in the wheelhouse. Vaguely she wondered where Caleb was and if he knew of the fugitive hiding belowdecks near the bow of his ship.

As she walked quietly toward the cabin she shared with Wren and Lydia, a queer feeling within her body made her hesitate. She waited, as women had from time immemorial, for the featherlike quickening to occur again. The child. Her and Malcolm's child. Sudden fear struck her. God! What if seeing Malcolm the way he was now had marked the child? Heaven forbid it be born with a hideous disfigurement brought about by its mother seeing its father! Suddenly Sara began to giggle, a light chortle at first, which built to ringing peals of laughter that brought tears to her eyes. Even now Malcolm could not allow himself to be honest with her. He had tried to use her again, to win her over with pity, to lie to her and think her stupid enough to believe him, pity him and even love him. But she had been smarter this time, craftier.

How ugly Malcolm was now. Gone were the abundant good looks which had always attracted women to him. Now his glance was sly, feral. His words seemed slick and well rehearsed. Never again would he be a strikingly handsome man who could win a woman's heart just by the grace of his looks alone. What could he have done to Wren to make her take a poker to his face? That was the only thing Malcolm had said that Sara could believe. The only thing that would move Wren to violence was an attack on her person. Sara laughed again, the sound ringing out over the water, the note of hysteria rising to a shrillness. So Wren was no longer a virgin. That was the only thing she would protect with her life; Sara knew it in her heart. Malcolm must have tried to seduce her before the wedding and Wren had refused. Malcolm, not used to refusal, had become violent, and Wren had reacted in the only way she could. Dirty scum, Sara thought, he deserved whatever he got.

It never occurred to Sara that just hours before she had lain in her bunk dreaming of Malcolm. Now she had to concentrate on Caleb, definitely the better man of the two. Her child needed a father and she needed a husband to save her from the outraged scorn of the community of Puritans. She sniffed delicately and continued with her stroll as if it were something she did in the middle of every night. Her hand caressed her burgeoning belly and her thoughts whirled in crazy circles. No one would stand in the way of what she meant to have for herself. Slowly, her footsteps led her in a circular course around the deck.

A seaman was coming on duty to take the watch, and in the darkness he bumped into her. He lifted his lantern to identify the woman and was perplexed when he saw the expression in Sara's eyes.

“Can I help you to your cabin?” he asked politely. “You shouldn't be out here this time of night. It's too easy to fall overboard—” He broke off his words, the flesh on his back rising as though a goose had just walked on his grave. In the dim light of the lantern Sara's eyes were wild and staring, her lips drawn back over her teeth in a soundless, mirthless laugh. When she at last seemed to notice him and the light, he had the feeling that a sly, demonic creature was peering out from behind her eyes. The seaman backed away, unable to take his gaze from her face, remembering the time he had taken a ha'penny tour of Bedlam and seen the stark raving madness on the faces of the inmates. His hackles still rising in warning, he backed away still further and broke into a run. As he ran he could hear the woman's laughter, demonic in its intensity, leaving the ranks of saneness and breaking into a possessed howl

Back in her quarters, Sara stood looking down at the sleeping women, her thoughts vaguely disoriented. Ever since she had seen Malcolm, she felt somehow different. Her brain seemed fuzzy and her thoughts weren't clear. She stared down at Wren, moving closer to her bunk. There was something about Wren, something she should do, but what was it? Was it a secret? She had to think, to clear her head so that she would know what to do. She would talk to Bascom in the morning; he would know what to do about the problem. Perhaps if she slept, she would be able to remember what it was she was supposed to do in the morning. If she couldn't remember then, she would go to Bascom anyway.

Wren was not asleep. She watched Sara out of the corner of her eye, her heart thudding in her chest. Something was wrong with Sara. The girl's eyes were peculiar, and the way she was hovering over the bunk made Wren nervous. How pale Sara looked with the moonlight streaming through the porthole and casting a silvery aura around her, as if she were a ghostly specter. But it was Sara's eyes that frightened Wren.

Once Sara had settled herself in her own bunk, Wren realized there was no point in trying to sleep. The air in the cabin was very close, and she was fearful that her tossing and turning would disturb Lydia's sleep. A walk on the deck might help her sort out her thoughts. There would be no one about except the man on watch, and she doubted if he would pay her much notice. She had to think. The time had come to face a few truths.

The night air was brisk, yet it held the promise of the coming summer. She leaned against the rail and pondered the happenings in her life since Sirena and Regan had returned to England to take her back to Java. Why had she been so stubborn? Why hadn't she trusted their love and listened to them and done what they wanted? Now look at me, she wailed silently. What's to become of me? She also had Lydia to worry about, and the way Sara was behaving, it wouldn't be long before she would be saddled with her, too. She watched the dancing waves, eerie in the moonlight, as she pondered her problems. If she went over the side, she wouldn't have anything to worry about, she thought morbidly, but then that was the coward's way out. She had gotten herself into this situation, and she would have to extricate herself as best she could.

She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear the footsteps till a dark shadow caused her to turn her head. Caleb! She said nothing but returned her gaze to the water. Her heart pounded in her chest at his nearness.

How fragile she looked in the moonlight, Caleb thought. He said nothing but folded his arms and stared out across the water.

Wren wanted to shout at him and tell him what she thought of him, but the words wouldn't come. Was she finally growing up? If so, it was a painful business indeed. She didn't have to be so physically aware of his presence if she didn't want to be. Then why was she? How close he was. Wasn't he ever going to say anything? Was he waiting for her to say something? She gulped and wet her lips, her knees trembling madly. What did he want? He wanted Sara. Her back stiffened at the thought and her jaw tightened. Well, he could have her, with her wild eyes, and he could have Bascom, too. The lot of them could sail off to the end of the world, for all she cared!

His voice, when he spoke, was soft, yet husky. “It's not wise for you to walk the deck at this hour of the night.”

Her own voice matched his for softness. “I couldn't sleep, and the room was too warm. I wanted to feel the spindrift on my face.” Was that soft, purring voice hers?

“How long have you been standing here?”

“Not long. If my being here upsets you, then I'll go back to my quarters. Caleb, I—”

Caleb touched her lips gently with his finger. “It doesn't upset me. I just don't want anything to happen to you.” How soft her skin felt beneath his fingertip.

Wren moved slightly, his touch searing her mouth. She had to say something. “I guess I haven't done so well with things. I seem to have botched everything up. I'm sorry, Caleb.” She looked up into his face, her features composed in the moonlight, belying the torrent of emotions that churned through her breast.