Savannah Heat (13 page)

“Away the aft hook,” he commanded as they neared their final resting place in the quiet waters of the harbor. “Furl the tops’l. Make fast the aft rode.”

The ship creaked with the sound of the aft anchor growing taut, men and equipment working together in an age-old partnership that had served them well through countless voyages.

“Drop the fore anchor, and haul away on the aft rode until she’s fast.” In seconds the ship reached a shuddering halt, the gentle lap of sea against hull the only sound. The men relaxed a bit at the feeling of calm and the knowledge that for now they had reached their destination.

With a building feeling of dread, Silver watched from the quarterdeck as Morgan ordered the shore boat lowered and his second mate and another sailor descended the rope ladder to man the oars.

Both Hamilton Riley and Wilson Demming made their way to her side, each clasping her hand in a farewell reminiscent of their earlier friendly attitude toward her. Apparently Major Trask had set them straight about the nature of his relationship with her, for which she was grateful.

If only one of them would help her.

She knew they would not.

Watching from a distance, Jordy hung back, waiting until she walked the few steps between them and extended her hand. “I’m glad to have met you, Jordy. I know if you keep trying as hard as you have been, you’ll captain your own ship one day, just as you wish.”

Jordy accepted her handshake. “You’ll be all right, won’t you? I mean no one’s gonna hurt you or nothin’?”

“Anything,” she corrected, and Jordy grinned. “I’ll be all right.” She wished she believed it.

“You’re not so bad, Miss Jones. Don’t let ’em tell you no—any—different neither.”

Impulsively Silver hugged him. “Thank you, Jordy.” With a last wan smile, she turned and walked away. She’d gone only a few feet when Sogger bounded up the ladder from below with an ear-splitting yowl. His orange-striped fur looked as patchy as ever, but his belly bulged pleasantly. He purred his contentment the moment Silver knelt to pet him.

“I’m going to miss you.” She scratched his mashed right ear. “I used to have a cat who looked a little like you on Katonga, but Father said he brought fleas into the house.”

Sogger rubbed himself between her legs. Silver ran her hand along his furry back one last time.

“Ready?” Morgan gently prodded. He’d been watching her in silence from the rail.

Silver only nodded. Her face looked as pale as it had the night before. He tried not to notice the rise and fall of her breast above the neckline of her tattered white blouse, the span of her tiny waist. He tried not to remember the softness of her lips when
he had kissed her, the slender curves that lay beneath her skirt. Her eyes, always so dark and fathomless, were fixed on the huge white house on the hill. When he took her hand to help her over the rail, he noticed that it trembled.

“William may be difficult, Salena, but I’m sure he’ll see reason. I—”

“My name is Silver,” she said with a haughty little lift of her chin. “And you needn’t be concerned. I’ll look after myself, as I always have.”

Morgan set his jaw. If that was the way she wanted it, so be it. He was just damned glad to be rid of her.

The small boat sliced through the water in a silence that wasn’t interrupted until they reached the shore. Clusters of black people gathered at the edge of the banana groves to watch them. The women wore plain striped linsey shifts, mostly faded into some drab color, and the men wore loose black trousers of osnaburg cloth beneath loose-fitting homespun shirts. Several pointed at Silver, whose pale hair glistened in the sunlight, leaving no doubt about who she was.

“You men stay here,” Morgan instructed Flagg and Gordon, the men who had manned the oars. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

He wished he had more time, but there was the matter of cotton for guns, concern for his brother, and the British who awaited his arrival in Barbados. Maybe he could stop on his return trip. It would be days out of his way, but damn it, he and William had once been friends. And he could make certain that Silver was all right. In the distance a wagon rolled toward them, stirring up dust on the crushed lava road that led down from the big white plantation house.

“Looks like someone saw us coming,” Morgan
said. Silver just walked along the path with her head held high, looking neither right nor left.

Finally one of the women broke away from the others in the field where she’d been doling water from a big pottery jug and walked up to her. “We t’ought you was gone fo’ good, Miz Silver,” she said in that deep, resonant tone of the Caribbean.

Silver turned toward the short, flat-featured woman who looked no more than twenty. A small curly-headed black boy with gentle brown eyes clung to her leg, and a baby nestled at her plump milk-ripe breast.

“So did I, Tomora.”

“Miz Delia, she miss you from de moment you gone, but Quako say he know you be hoppy.”

“Are they all right?”

“Dey fine … dis your mon?”

Silver flushed and shook her head. “He’s a friend of Fathers.”

Tomora’s warm look faded. “I go now. I tell Miz Delia and Quako you bock home.” Taking the small boy’s hand, she tugged him toward the banana grove waving broad flat leaves in the distance. Workers toiled with rakes and hoes, and two-wheeled carts followed along the narrow dirt paths between the fields.

“A friend of yours?” Morgan asked.

“One of my father’s slaves,” she answered with a hint of bitterness.

“Surely, as a British subject, he freed them in ’33 with the abolition?”

“Katonga is not a British possession. My father is ruler here.” With that she swept up her tattered brown skirt and moved off toward the wagon rolling to a halt just a few feet away.”

“Dey seen de ship come into de harbor,” said the
slender black youth atop the driver seat. “Massa Knowles send me down. He be surprised to see you, Miz Silver.”

“I don’t know why he should be. My father offered money to every scoundrel from here to Jamaica to bring me back.” Her pointed look at Morgan said he was just such a man.

Morgan felt a rush of anger but firmly tamped it down. With a firm grip on her arm he helped Silver up onto the wagon seat and climbed up himself. He could feel the warmth of her body through the light cotton barrier of her clothes. His fingers seemed to burn from the warmth of her skin where he had touched her. He wanted her, he knew, more every day. And his conscience was wearing thin. Thank God he would soon be rid of her.

“This is Major Trask, Thadeus,” she said to the slender black boy. “He’s come to claim the reward.”

“It’s Pinkard’s reward, not mine,” Morgan corrected, feeling his anger build. Bringing Silver back was in her best interest, damn it, whether she realized it or not. “I’m just escorting
Her Ladyship
home.”

Silver silently seethed. She was glad for the temper Morgan stirred. She needed it to get through these next few hours. Trask would soon be leaving. She’d be left to face her father’s wrath, the cuts and bruises he would leave on her body, the hotness in his eyes. She should be used to it by now, but somehow this time it would be worse.

From beneath her lashes, she watched Trask sitting there beside her, ramrod straight, his jaw clamped tight in an expression she had come to know well these past few weeks. For the first time it occurred to her how much she would miss him, angry or not, venting his fury or showing her kindness.
In some strange way she had come to care for him, maybe even depend on him a little.

Soon there would be no one.

Pulled by a sturdy team of mules, the heavy wagon rolled up the dusty lava drive past oleander and frangipani, colorful jessamine, and pink bougainvillaea. Their sweet smells wafted through the air, but to Silver they were the cloying smells of her silk-lined prison.

Morgan climbed down from the wagon seat and lifted her to the ground. On the wide veranda the massive carved mahogany door swung wide, but it wasn’t her father who stepped out to greet them. Resignedly Silver crossed the drive and climbed the stairs, Morgan walking behind her.

“Salena, thank God you’re safe.”

“Major Morgan Trask, this is Sheridan Knowles, my father’s manager.” Knowles clasped her hand between both of his in a gesture of welcome. Silver withdrew it.

He turned to the major and extended his hand. “Major Trask.” Morgan returned the man’s grip. “We can’t thank you enough. William has been worried sick.”

A tall, spare man in his middle forties, Sheridan Knowles had coffee brown hair, refined features, and a fair complexion. His clothes were well tailored: black broadcloth trousers, a silver brocade waistcoat, and a dark gray frock coat. His wide white stock was perfectly tied.

Knowles seemed friendly enough, yet there was something about him Morgan found offensive. Something in his smile that seemed a little insincere, something that didn’t quite wash. Then again, Morgan was edgy and eager to be away. Maybe it was just his imagination.

“You’ll have to thank Ferdinand Pinkard. He’s the man expecting to claim the reward. I merely escorted the lady home.”

“I’m sure William would want you compensated as well,” Knowles said as he ushered them into the expansive foyer.

Above their heads, a huge cut-crystal chandelier clinked pleasantly in the afternoon breeze. The house was Georgian in design, with great tall ceilings and beautiful carved moldings that framed the doorways and surrounded the brass and crystal sconces that lined the walls. Thick Aubusson carpets warmed the inlaid parquet floors, and gold silk draperies clothed the windows. Magnificent slatted wooden shutters could be closed in time of storm.

“I want nothing from William except a little of his time. Where is he?”

“William has left, I’m afraid,” Knowles said. “When no word came of Salena, he sailed to Barbados, hoping to find her himself. He discovered she had left aboard the
Lawrence
, an immigrant ship that stopped here to make repairs. From Barbados William was bound for America, where he knew the
Lawrence
had gone.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Morgan said. “I’d been looking forward to seeing him.”
And settling some of these damnable doubts that are driving me crazy
. “William and I have known each other for some years.”

“I’m surprised we’ve never met,” Knowles said.

“It’s been fifteen years since last I saw him. I’ve never been to Katonga.”

“Then you must accept our hospitality and let my wife and me show you around.” He glanced pointedly at Silver. “I’m sure Salena is tired. She’ll want to bathe and be properly clothed again.” Morgan
didn’t miss his disdain at Silver’s shabby dress—or lack of it. But then Morgan didn’t much approve of it either.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time,” he said, declining Knowles’s effusive invitation. “Tell William I plan to stop by on my return. There are some things we need to discuss.”

“I expect he’ll contact Pinkard as soon as he reaches the States. Once he learns of Salena’s return, he’ll be back. In the meantime, my wife Rebecca and I will look after her.”

“You may rest assured, Major,” Silver put in, “that Sheridan will see I come to no harm. He is my father’s most valued employee. He’s well paid to act in his stead.”

Morgan didn’t miss the bitterness in her words.

“I think it’s time you went upstairs, Salena,” Knowles said, and to Morgan’s surprise, Silver didn’t argue, just looked at the brown-haired man with an expression of resignation and turned to leave. Morgan stopped her with a gentle hold on her arm.

“Give us a moment, will you?” he said to Knowles.

“I’ll get the reward money for Mr. Pinkard.”

Morgan nodded. Taking Silver’s hand, which he found noticeably cold for such a warm day, he led her to the open front door. A thin-faced short black butler dressed in an immaculate black suit saw them coming and walked a discreet distance away.

“I’ll be back, Silver,” Morgan promised. “William will be home by then, and we’ll all three sit down and talk things over.”

Silver smiled but it wasn’t sincere. When she glanced up at him, she seemed surprised by his look of concern. What kind of ogre did she think he was?

She watched him a moment from beneath her
thick dark lashes, saying nothing, her eyes fixed on his face. Then her hand came up to the scar on his cheek. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, tracing the thin white line with a delicate finger. At his stunned expression, she realized what she was doing and snatched the offending hand away, burying it deeply within the folds of her skirt.

“I wish it were that easy,” she said softly.

“Damn it, Silver, if there’s something you want to tell me, say it.” He could still feel the warmth of her hand against his cheek. Why had she done that?

She forced a second smile, this one strangely forlorn. “I’ll be fine. Really I will.”

“You’ll be fine,” he repeated, beginning to get angry again. Why was she looking at him that way? Making him feel like he was tossing her into some hellish prison, instead of leaving her in a beautiful mansion on one of the loveliest islands he had ever seen. “I told you I’ll be back and I will.”

“One thing I’ve never doubted, Major Trask, is your word.”

Morgan’s mouth thinned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that my father will be pleased. Your debt to him will be paid in full and then some.”

Morgan cursed roundly. “Damned if you aren’t a handful, Salena.”

“Silver,” she corrected, beginning to get angry herself. Why didn’t he just get the hell out of there? Every moment he stayed only made things harder. Any second she was liable to disgrace herself, throw her arms around his neck, and beg him not to leave her.

“You’ll never change, will you?” He smiled grimly. “I suppose I should feel sorry for you, but in truth I feel sorry for William.”

Before she could stop herself, Silver’s palm connected with his cheek, the crack resounding in the high-ceilinged foyer.

Morgan’s jaw tightened, clamped so hard a muscle bunched in his cheek. He rubbed the spot she had earlier caressed, now bright with the imprint of her fingers.