Runaway (14 page)

“Aye, aye, sir!” Leo agreed, and turned to do Jarrett’s bidding.

But Robert remained several moments at his side.

Jarrett groaned. “What now?”

Robert shook his head. “You’re a calm man, Jarrett McKenzie. Had I just acquired such an angel for a wife—”

“You could have acquired her as easily as I,” Jarrett told him.

Robert shook his head. “I think not. I’m far more handsome, of course, but … let’s face it. You’re richer. And,” Robert said soberly, “much stronger. You’re what the lady needed. And, I do believe, she’s exactly what you needed.”

“Well, it all remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Jarrett said. “She is appalled by the prospects of snakes and alligators—what do you think she’ll feel when she discovers the truth of my situation?”

“Want me to find out?”

“I’ll slit your throat if you say a word to her.”

“Not a breath!” Robert promised him. “But what if …”

“Yes?”

“What if she does not handle the truth well? What will you do, send her north?”

Jarrett, his eyes upon the endless waves before them, listening to the splash of the gulf as they knifed through the waters, shook his head stubbornly. “No. She has her secrets, and she made her vows.” He was startled by the vehemence he felt himself. “She has made her bed, Robert. She will lie in it.”

“Then perhaps you should warn her—”

“When I’m ready,” Jarrett said determinedly. “I mean that, Robert. When I’m ready.”

“When we reach Tampa, she’ll hear things.”

“Probably.”

“Then—”

“She’ll have to ask me what she wants to know,” Jarrett persisted firmly.

“Aye, Captain, as you say!” Robert agreed with an exaggerated sigh. He clipped his heels together and bowed slightly. “I shall help Nathan in the galley and see if I cannot hurry a meal along.”

He left Jarrett at the helm, and Jarrett discovered that he was glad to be there, alone. The wind felt good, the salt air felt good. The rhythm of the ship beneath his legs felt good. Reliving the events of the night before felt—strange. And reconciling what he had done with his life felt stranger still.

Tara awoke groggily to a tapping sound. She sat up slowly, feeling almost drugged, very tired, strangely stiff. She blinked briefly, stared at her surroundings with confusion first, remembrance, alarm, and then another rush of remembrance that seemed to burn the entirety of her flesh to a rose blush. Dear Lord, things had moved so swiftly and so desperately, and now …

The tapping continued. She leapt up, her heart slamming furiously as she dressed with all possible speed.
He
was back, she thought. No, he was not, for he would never knock. He was her husband. Her mind was spinning. She felt as though she were losing it.

No, she had lost it last night. Lost so much, gained so much. A flush of fever seemed to seize her again.

“Tara?” a polite voice queried.

Dressed, her hair still wildly disheveled, she pulled open the door.

Robert Treat had come to the cabin door, bearing a silver tray. He balanced the tray while sweeping her a deep, playful bow.

“Mrs. McKenzie. I am ever your servant on this journey to your new homeland—well, and then for life, I do imagine!” he said lightly.

She smiled. His manner was charming, infectious. His tawny good looks were appealing, and he had determined, it seemed, that after talking her into marriage with his friend, he was going to make her feel welcome aboard the ship whether his friend intended to or not.

“Thank you,” she told him, smiling and sweeping him a deep curtsy in return.

“Will you have this on the desk, Mrs. McKenzie?”

“What is it?”

“The most delicious crawfish stew you will ever taste.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said.

He set down the tray and swept the top from the server. He pulled out the captain’s chair and seated her with a flourish, then perched upon a corner of the desk himself.

“Don’t mind me, I’ve eaten,” he assured her.

The stew smelled enticing. She was starving. She took him at his word and picked up her spoon for a first taste. It was delicious. She ate more hungrily, then remembered she had company and hesitated.

“Are you sure—”

“Mrs. McKenzie, it is late in the day for a weary worker like myself!”

She arched a brow. “You don’t look overworked at the moment.”

He laughed. “No, I guess not.”

“Do you work for Jarrett?”

“Only upon occasion.”

“You two are very good friends.”

“The best. I’d die for him,” Robert said simply.

She arched a brow again, but he hadn’t intended to be so deadly serious and he told her, “We share an absolute passion for our land.”

She couldn’t help a slight shiver. “For the bugs and the alligators?” she said lightly.

“Now, now! Don’t tease until you have seen a sunset! Or perhaps, not until you have touched Juan Ponce de León’s magnificent Fountain of Youth!”

“It exists?” Tara teased skeptically.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. Who knows? I can promise you this: there are places to be found that offer the greatest enchantment. In fact, marvelous, romantic events took place quite near to where you’ll be living.”

She arched a brow. “Alligator matings?”

“Mrs. McKenzie! What an indelicate question!” he laughed.

“Well, I imagine I am in a rather indelicate position,” she murmured, feeling a telltale rise of heat to her cheeks once again.

But Robert remained the complete gentleman. “Ah, I shall have to see that you do become enchanted with our little corner of Paradise! Now pay me heed. In 1492, as you are well aware, Columbus discovered the New World. Spaniards started to become very wealthy, stripping treasures out of South America. Now, our good friend Ponce wanted to become wealthy as well, and so he came searching for gold and the fantastic treasures that had been found elsewhere. He discovered the West Indies, then heard fantastic tales about another land where there were gold and riches and clear, magical waters. If a man drank from those waters, he would find eternal health and life. He didn’t find the magical water, or gold, but he did find Florida. And after his death other enterprising Spaniards continued seeking their fortunes. So now comes the beginning of my story. Hernando Cortés was busy becoming a very wealthy man off the wealth of the Aztecs in Mexico. Velasquez, governor of Cuba, was jealous. He sent a man named Pánfilo de Narváez to explore Florida to find the same kinds of riches. Pánfilo de Narváez landed near Tampa Bay,
where we are sailing to now, then sent his ships north along the coast to meet him once he had explored the country. At first he met friendly natives, then the Indians grew more hostile. He found no riches and then, when he came back to the coast, he found none of his ships. He and his men grew desperate. They begged to build ships, which they did. They melted down their helmets and shields, and bolts and bars and nails were made from them. Then they set out on their pathetic little boats.”

“This is a wonderful story, Robert,” Tara told him, laughing. “I can’t wait to get there now.”

“Hush. I’m getting to the good part. The boats set out. They were nearly all destroyed, and the sailors were either drowned or killed by the natives, except for four survivors who traveled on through the land to tell the tale.”

“That was the good part?”

“Now listen. The wife of Pánfilo de Naváez sent a ship out with supplies for her husband. The sailors saw nothing of Pánfilo, but Indians beckoned them ashore, and two young men came there in a rowboat. They were seized by an Indian chief named Hirrihiqua, who had been very badly treated by Pánfilo de Naváez. The first young man was immediately tortured and killed.”

“That must be the good part!” Tara said.

“The second young man,” Robert said sternly, “was Juan Ortiz. And Hirrihiqua was about to torture and kill him. He had him bound and placed over a fire.”

“Robert—”

“But the chiefs daughter would have none of it. She flew to her father’s feet, cast herself down before them and wept and pleaded. She begged, sobbed, wept some more.…”

“And?”

“Well, he released Juan Ortiz!” Robert said, pleased with the outcome of his story.

“Aren’t you perhaps borrowing from stories about Pocahontas and John Smith?”

“No!” Robert said indignantly. “It’s a true story, and it happened long before Pocahontas was even born.”

“Ah, I see. Did Ortiz then fall in love with the Indian maiden and wed her?”

“No, actually, the Indians kept him as a slave for many years. Hirrihiqua was a tough man, so it seems. But his daughter was a truly valiant young lady, and saw to it that her fiancé, a young leader from another tribe, took in Ortiz so that he would not be so badly treated. Hirrihiqua then refused to give the young fiancé his daughter, but the fiancé had sworn to protect Ortiz and he did so.”

“And then?”

“Ortiz was rescued years later by Hernando de Soto. And I’m not sure of the fate of our young Indian lovers. But it’s a marvelous story, don’t you think?”

Tara smiled and nodded. “A very nice story—I suppose.”

“It’s history. I love history. And our history is the oldest in the nation, did you realize that?”

She smiled. “Where do you get all this history?”

“Books,” he told her, his expression almost grave. “I love books. History books, playbooks—”

“Really?”

He folded his hands over his heart. “I’ve every last word ever penned by Mr. William Shakespeare. You’ll have to come see me sometime. I can’t promise eternal life, but I can be a fountain of knowledge.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Robert leapt off the desk. “I have to go now. The
captain has a bellow about him when he’s in a mood.” He winked. “See you later. I will be back, I promise.”

He strode across the cabin and quickly left her, and she idly twirled a strand of hair with her fingers. He was wonderful. So quick to smile, so very quick to make her feel welcome. He could make her laugh while informing her about awful things.

She felt a strange heat fill her again. Still, he couldn’t cause her to tremble the way Jarrett McKenzie did with a simple word, a light touch. By a brush of his ebony-dark eyes.

She clutched her hands together. What had she done? What if McKenzie ever learned the truth?

The truth … as Clive Carter had cunningly planned for the world to see it.

Jarrett held his course steady for some time, then Robert returned with a bowl of Nathan’s crawfish stew, and he ate it hungrily while Robert kept them steady on their way, commenting on the dark clouds that had risen on the horizon. They agreed they were in for rough weather.

They had scarcely spoken the words aloud before the wind picked up in earnest. All hands were summoned on deck to trim the sails as the wind continued to rise, rain lashing down upon them. Again Jarrett took the wheel himself, bracing against the force of the storm. He was standing at the helm, blinking against the drive of the rain when he suddenly felt a presence behind him and turned to discover Tara there, feet planted firmly upon the deck.

“Get below!” he roared to her.

“But I can help—” she began.

“Go below!”

“I’m a good sailor and I do not like being confined—”

“Damn!” He swore, absolutely furious with her. With all his strength he could but hold the wheel.

“Well, do you like being washed overboard?” he demanded angrily.

“I told you, I’m a good sailor.”

“Leo! The helm!” he roared above the wind and waves to his first mate, and the second he was relieved, he turned to Tara, sweeping her up, staggering against the wind to return her to his cabin.

Someone had been busy. The bath was gone, the bunk was made. Last night’s dinners were gone, and someone had brought Tara some crawfish stew. Hers had been served on a silver tray with a white linen napkin and a glass of wine.

The tray now slid back and forth on his desk. But he did not stare at the tray long.

There was also a trunk within the room. A familiar one. He forgot the weather, the future—even the woman for a moment—as he stared at the trunk. His
new
wife. The trunk had belonged to his past wife.…