Page 128 of The Pirate and the Pagan
When no woman came forward, Penn became almost defiant. “Apparently she does not wish to go with you.” Rory flashed his wolf’s grin. “Unfortunately, Captain, she has no choice in the matter.” He strode unerringly toward a dark, thin female and held out his hand. “Cat,” he said simply.
She felt as if she were awakening from a nightmare. Lord Helford had recognized her after all. His last words came back to her clearly. “Watch out for the Phantom” Ruark and Rory, together, had planned her escape. The dark vivid face and green eyes had the look of a wild hawk. He was so shamelessly arrogant that all other men suffered by comparison. Her fingers reached tentatively toward his outstretched hand and his warm fingers closed over hers and drew her to her feet. Then everything blurred together. They ran lightly across the deck, his strong arms holding her securely as they swung across to the deck of the Phantom and the space between the two vessels widened quickly as the Phantom’s top gallants filled with wind to carry the graceful marauder out of sight within minutes.
His arm still steadied her as she gazed up at him in disbelief, then she whispered the first words that had passed her lips in months. “You should have let me go.”
Sea green eyes looked deeply into hers and then they smiled at her. “I will never let you go,” he said simply. “As captain of this ship I order you below to bed. You will do nothing but eat and sleep for a week.” Then he added a phrase to give her peace of mind. “None will disturb you.”
Without a backward glance she gratefully went below to the well-remembered cabin. Gone were the silken red panels which used to float about like smoke. In their place were pristine white bed curtains, and the linen spread upon the wide bed was clean and white as driven snow.
She slept heavily for three days and nights. On the fourth day she began to eat between long naps and on the fifth day she added another delicious pleasure to her regimen. She bathed.
The sixth day she Ventured up on deck and realized they lay at anchor in a sun-bathed cove of the Scilly Isles. Rory wisely kept his distance and allowed her to approach him. “The sunshine and sea air will help to heal you. Already your cheeks have roses in them.”
She wandered ashore, basking for hours on the hot sand, then she would go for solitary walks, picking up exquisite shells, letting tiny crabs run across her bare toes while the seabirds wheeled and screamed above her head.
She allowed herself to think again. It was painful at first until she got back into the habit of it. And the thought that came again and again to her lifted the corners of her mouth in a sad smile. Fate had chosen for her, and it had chosen Rory. Soon she would go to him, and she would go willingly. He had saved her life and she owed him everything.
Late one warm afternoon she felt strong enough to swim again. Rory watched over her anxiously, but when she climbed back aboard and toweled her dark curls into a soft halo about her head, he grinned at her and said, “I think it’s time I took you home to Helford Hall.”
She recoiled from him. “No!” she said sharply. “I don’t want to see him.”
“You must. We struck a bargain, you see. I was to rescue you, then I was to take you home to him.”
“No!” she cried in great panic. “Why would you force me to this?” she demanded.
“Hellcat, when are you going to face the truth? It is he you love, and only he.”
She stared at him aghast.
He was the first to lower his eyes. “You know which cabin I’m using. When you are ready to face the truth, you know where to find me.”
She sat with her knees drawn up, resting her chin upon them as she watched the crimson sunset. When the night sky turned from crimson to black, she stood up and fetched a sigh to her very toes. What was the use of pretending? It seemed everyone knew anyway.
She gathered Rory’s white djellaba robe about her and padded down the companionway to his cabin. She opened the door and gasped in shock. “Ruark!”
He had just finished shaving and he was brushing a black substance into his hair. “Where’s Rory?” she demanded.
“There is no Rory,” he said quietly. “There is only me, Ruark Rory Helford.”
She stared at him in disbelief. That could not be. He was surely taller and broader than Rory, and he held his dark head with a greater pride. Ruark had a dark heritage in his blood, that heritage of violence and disquiet which seethed through the men of Cornwall but had not touched the youthful, carefree Rory. Lord Ruark Helford seethed with a dark vein of passion. Yet she suddenly knew he spoke the truth. Her eyes had been opened at last and she wondered unbelievably how she had not seen it before. Her hand went to her throat. “Does any but your crew know?” she whispered.
“The King,” he said quietly. “It was Charles’s suggestion in the first place to assume two identities. Whenever he wants to resurrect Black Jack Flash, I always tell him Rory is dead, but he flashes that charming smile and says, ‘A convenient rumor the scoundrel circulates for some dark reason of his own, I have no doubt.’”
She almost smiled.
He held out his hand. “Lady Helford … Summer … will you let me take you home?”
She moved forward slowly and at last placed her hand in his. “If you will give me time to adjust.” She withdrew her hand shyly. “I just can’t comprehend it all at once.”
He wanted to pledge to her that he would spend the rest of his life loving her, that he would make it up to her somehow, or die in the attempt, but he knew she was not ready for impassioned speeches and vows.
When the Phantom dropped anchor in a sheltered cove of the Helford River in the late afternoon, Summer’s heart began to thud uncontrollably at the thought of seeing Ryan again. She was certain he wouldn’t even remember her, but that wouldn’t matter at all so long as he was healthy and happy. She donned a lavender silk gown she had left aboard the Phantom when she had bought all the fancy clothes in The Hague, but she scrupulously avoided the mirror. She did not need to be reminded that her clothes hung on her and her hair was still too unfashionably short.
Ruark came down to the cabin to escort her home. A slight frown formed between his brows as he watched her wash her hands for the third time. There was still such a gulf between them. They hadn’t even talked yet. Oh, they exchanged polite pleasantries whenever they encountered one another but they hadn’t talked, they hadn’t touched, His brow cleared. He would have to be the one to breach the gap. Perhaps when she got the baby back, it would go a long way to healing her.
She felt his strong arm supporting her back as they went through the front doors of Helford Hall and she was most grateful for it. Her knees had been threatening to turn into butter ever since she’d stepped off the ship. The hall was filled with masses of cream-colored roses and there stood Mrs. Bishop holding a small, sturdy replica of Ruark Helford. He was not really a baby, he was a one-year-old scrap of Satan with black silk curls and a laughing, red mouth.
Summer’s throat closed painfully and she found it almost impossible to speak. Mrs. Bishop tried not to stare too rudely at Lady Helford. She realized that she must have been ill and was still so fragile a strong wind would blow her away. Nevertheless, she held out her son to her. Summer shook her head and quickly put her hands behind her back to conceal her burned thumb. Then in a low voice she said, “Mrs. Bishop, you have done such a wonderful job with him. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
