Ill Wind and Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure (Valkyrie) (5 page)

I took a
deep breath and held the looking glass up to my face. Eyes darkened with kohl, lips reddened with cochineal, face powdered with chalk, and cheeks rouged with cerise. My shining dark hair was set off well by my veil and hung in perfect curls just past my shoulders.

My gown of white silk left my shoulders bare, its sleeves were tied with more silk and fell to my elbows. The bodice was ruffled and the mantua, hanging in perfect drapes to enhance the length of my body, was embroidered with red and yellow flowers, and drawn back over my hips to show off matching petticoats. I twisted slightly to look at my back. The sash at my hips was tied into a perfect bustle and the dress trailed behind. I had never looked so well and smiled at myself. It was the last day of June – my wedding day.

‘You look beautiful, Miss Gabriella,’ Klara said and smiled. I smiled back, but my smile faltered with nerves for the day and life ahead of me. An image of Peter floated in my mind, but I pushed it away. I could not think of him – ever again.

‘It’s time,’ she added.

I sighed and nodded, pulled on my matching gloves and picked up my fan. I was ready and couldn’t put this off any longer.

*

The past three
weeks had been awful. Jan and Erik had rowed constantly behind library and study door. Presumably it was still about Morgan and his pirates, but I couldn’t be sure. I could only hope they weren’t arguing about me. At least Jan tried to be polite and remember his manners, but Erik barely spoke to me. It was clear this marriage was Jan’s idea and Erik a reluctant participant. At least we only saw each other at mealtimes and most of the days were my own.

That didn’t mean much; there was only so much time I could spend sitting on a beach, reading or working at my embroidery, and my only friend was a slave who was regularly bedded by my almost-husband, whether she wanted to be or not. Looking at her now, and the genuine smile on her face, I thought I believed her when she said she did not.

I shuddered, thinking of the man I was to marry.
What kind of man would behave as he does?
I didn’t want to marry him, but knew I would. I had no choice. My father had sold me to the van Eckens. I was at their mercy and had no power of my own. If somehow I found a way to leave and went home, Father would be furious. I had no doubt he would send me straight back, if not worse – I suspected he may even be capable of murder if defied so publicly.

I couldn’t escape anyway. I was trapped on an island – surrounded by water. I didn’t have a boat or know how to sail one. Every visiting ship worked for or with Jan and Erik, and there was nowhere else to go but jungle – full of strange sounds in the dark. I wouldn’t survive a week in the Caribbean wilds – the thought of that terrified me more than the thought of life as Mevrouw van Ecken.

‘Ready?’ Klara’s prompt shook me out of my thoughts. I nodded and moved to the door. Klara gathered and lifted my train, and we struggled down the stairs. My embroidered white silk shoes were higher than I was used to, and the excessive amount of silk I wore made the narrow, steep staircase difficult to negotiate. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the landing without mishap, and we walked to the top of the main staircase in silence.

This staircase had been built to make an impression on everyone who entered the house and would be much easier to descend. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, determined at least to get through the day with dignity. Joy wasn’t an option.

Erik was nowhere to be seen; only Jan waited for me in the large, grand hall.

‘Why the hell are you that dress wearing? That one’s for tomorrow!’

I looked at him in confusion. This was my wedding dress and this my wedding day.

‘We arrange today the legal affairs. We only the marriage celebrate once it has consummated been – tomorrow! Well, it’s now too late to change. You’ll just have to it wear. Don’t damage or wrinkle it – it needs tomorrow to be perfect!’

I nodded, near tears. I’d assumed the wedding customs would be those I knew, and realized now that assumption had been foolish. Nothing about these men was what I knew: not their manners, habits or language.

Jan walked ahead to the carriage. I heard him mutter, ‘
Vrouen
,’ under his breath and cringed. By now, I knew what that meant:
women.
My slow, awkward climb into the carriage only increased his impatience, and he left Klara and Hendrik to find a way to fold my dress with a minimum of wrinkles.

Eventually we were ready and started the drive to Eckerstad.

‘Is that why Mam and Father aren’t here yet? Are they coming tomorrow for the celebrations?’ I asked. I needed to know; they hadn’t been mentioned, but I hoped with all my heart that I’d see Mam again.

Jan looked at me and sighed. ‘They’re not coming, child. Your father is too busy and he would not permit your mother unaccompanied to travel.’

‘Oh,’ I said, stung. I blinked back tears and stared, unseeing, at the trees and scenery we passed, and clasped Mam’s amethyst in my hand. How could I have been so stupid as to think they’d come?

‘Where’s the church?’

‘There is no church, child. It costs time and money to a church build. And what for? We can talk to God in the comfort of our own homes. I’m not for a minister paying to tell everyone what to think. I’ll myself do that!’ Jan laughed.

I tried to smile. I’d enjoyed the informal prayer time on Sundays that seemed to be the only way the van Eckens celebrated their religion. They’d been a relief after the solemn day-long worship at home, but I’d expected something more for my wedding.

In Massachusetts, life, and even celebration, was taken so seriously, a wedding was a simple statement sworn by bride and groom, at home, before a magistrate. I’d been envious of the stories I’d heard of other cultures and their big wedding services and subsequent parties, and had hoped for something like that now. But there was no one else here.

I took Hendrik’s hand so he could help me down from the carriage and offered a nervous smile to Klara, who jumped down from the seat behind me and organised the dress, preventing any part of the train touching the dirt of the square. I squinted at her; her eyes looked wet, but she turned her head away and I said nothing.

We climbed the steps to the largest brick building in Eckerstad, my arm on Jan’s, Klara following, and entered the town hall. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves.

Jan led me to a door on the right and opened it. He stopped, standing still a moment to look at Erik sitting behind a large, ornate desk. He said something unfriendly in Dutch and Erik rose, then walked around the desk and stood before it. Father and son stared at each other a moment, then Erik looked at me. His eyes softened and he smiled. I smiled back.
Maybe this won’t be too bad, after all.

We walked towards my almost-husband, and Jan dropped my arm to move behind the desk and take his seat. Klara arranged my dress, gave me a discreet pat on the arm, and retreated to the back of the room. I looked at Erik, then at Jan in expectation. I was ready.

Jan cleared his throat and spoke – in Dutch. My face fell. Not only was my Mam missing from my wedding, but so was my language.

Erik spoke. I couldn’t understand a word.

Jan told me to say, ‘Ja’. I did.

*

Fifteen minutes later,
Erik walked me back out of the room and to the square. As we walked into the bright sunshine, a loud cheer greeted us. I blinked. The square was full of people wishing us well. I smiled and offered a small wave before I was ushered into the carriage.

Jan and Erik shook a few hands and exchanged brief words with people, but I wasn’t introduced. I supposed it was obvious who I was, but I’d have liked to know who was who.

With no other option I waited as patiently as I could until they both climbed into the carriage and we started for home. I stiffened with the realization that I’d thought of Brisingamen as home for the first time.

*

Jan had insisted I change out of the gown before dinner, and that Klara ensure not one speck of dirt or wrinkle remained on it by morning.

I smiled at her once we were alone in the safety of my room.

‘Which gown would you like to wear to dinner, Mevrouw van Ecken?’ she asked and I shuddered.

‘The pale-gold silk, I think, Klara. And please keep calling me Miss Gabriella – I may be married to a Dutchman, but I’m not ready for Mevrouw yet.’ I laughed and she smiled at me.

I sat down heavily as the realization sank in. I was no longer Gabriella Berryngton, I
was
Mevrouw Gabriella van Ecken. I thought of Peter again, then forced his image from my mind. It was useless to think of him, I’d never see him again.

I stayed in my room as long as I could, but when I heard a door slam downstairs, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I rose, took a deep breath, and made my way downstairs.

The evening meal was awkward and silent. I was nervous about the night ahead. Erik barely looked at me, never mind spoke, and Jan soon gave up his attempts at conversation. It was still over far too quickly, and as we rose from the table, I thought I’d throw up what little I had managed to eat.

The men went to their study, as usual, and I stayed in the drawing room and tried to read, but could not concentrate. I had no idea what to expect from the marriage bed except grunts and screams. I was unclear about what caused them, though. My departure from Massachusetts Bay had been so sudden, and Mam so upset, we’d not spoken about my marital duties – we hadn’t expected my marriage to Peter for many years. I only had advice to do as my husband instructed, and the memory of guilty gossip from my friends, and I was terrified.

I rang for Hendrik and asked him for another glass of wine ‘to steady my nerves’, as Father used to say.

I put down
my empty wine goblet and book, and stood. I couldn’t put it off any longer. My head spun and I grimaced. I’d drunk too much wine. It was time to go to bed.

I went upstairs carefully. I’d heard no voices when I passed the library door, but knew the heavy door hadn’t been opened whilst I had sat alone in the drawing room. They were still in there: my husband and father-in-law. I giggled.
My husband
. Then hushed.
Husband. I have a husband.
I carried on upstairs.

I sat at my dresser and pulled the round enamelled brush through my hair until Klara entered. She offered me a smile, but I was too nervous. I had no idea what Erik would expect of me. I wanted to ask Klara, but knew I wouldn’t. I was the mistress of the house and she my slave; I couldn’t ask her how to bed my husband.

She untied and unlaced until she’d removed all the pieces of my gown. She poured out some water and I washed my face, under my arms and – after a suggestive glance from Klara – between my legs.

I dressed again in my night shift – it hung to my knees, had pink ribbon decorating the neck line and sleeves, plus embroidery on the chest. Klara held up the looking glass and I stared. My face was turning brown from the sun and my freckles had doubled, at least. I looked like a child, not a married woman.

‘Thank you, Klara,’ I said, my voice betraying my nerves and fear. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it, put the glass away and, with a final, concerned look in my direction, left the room.

I climbed into bed, smoothed the covers over myself and lay with my head propped on a bolster. I waited.

*

The door banged
open and I woke with a start. The room was dark, but my husband held a lantern which he placed on my dresser. I could see him outlined by the light as he undressed. When he pushed his breeches down, I looked away, embarrassed, but curiosity got the better of me and I turned my eyes back to him.

I’d never seen a man without breeches before, although knew what they had down there. As a child, I and my friends had giggled at the boys when we splashed in the sea – naked so as not to spoil our clothes. Father would have flogged us had he known. None of those boys had had anything like this, though. They’d been small and floppy, I’d never expected anything so . . . aggressive, and I shrank back against the bed. I didn’t want him coming anywhere near me with that thing.

He pulled the muslin tester to one side and climbed on to the bed, flung the covers back and knelt over me. I felt deeply embarrassed when he pushed my shift up, exposing me and staring in the dim light. I tried to cover myself, but he batted my hands away.

He leaned over me, bracing his weight on his hands, and looked at my eyes for the first time. I screwed my nose up at the smell of sour rum, but forced myself to stare back and tried to tell him through my look to be gentle. I couldn’t read anything in his eyes, and was sure he hadn’t understood.

I screamed as a pain tore through me from between my legs. Erik smiled and pushed into me harder. I bit my lip to keep my screams in. He’d enjoyed the first one, I wouldn’t give him any more.

He kept pushing, over and over, until finally he groaned and moved off me. I stared at his back and was relieved when he immediately started to snore.

Is that it? As his wife, do I really have to let him do that to me whenever he wants?

I turned over on to my side, hugged my knees to my belly and let the tears come. I moved one hand to my mouth to quieten my sobs when they threatened to burst out of me. I didn’t want to wake him.