Pirate's Daughter, Rebel Wife. June Francis
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her father was alive or dead. Callum usually drank far too much when life dealt him a blow and then he could be reckless in the extreme. She had believed her presence had helped rein in some of his excesses and that was another reason why she had wanted to accompany him on Black Harry’s ship. Yet when Callum was sober, he was an excellent seaman and she had learnt much about handling a ship and commanding men by watching him.
She washed her face and hands and then dried them on the cloth. At least she knew more about her father than when she had arrived here. She must cling to the hope that he was still alive. She was also a free woman, so should rejoice in that and keep her spirits up. She still feared the slave trader appearing on the scene despite the captain telling her that she was safe with him. No doubt in the eyes of the Portuguese she belonged to that beast and the law would be on his side if he were to catch her again. The captain, being a foreigner on this island, might come off worse if he were to defend her. She had to get off this island as soon possible and look for her father elsewhere. As for Captain Black Harry, she would ask her host if he knew what had happened to him since his ship had been seen in Madeira last year.
Chapter Three
Harry swung into the saddle, determined not to blame himself for all that had befallen Bridget since they had parted in Ireland. Yet it was true that if he had not been prepared to pay her passage to Scotland in order for her to stay with her uncle and aunt, then her life would have been different. He remembered wanting to kiss Bridget’s luscious mouth when they had first met. Even later when she had insulted him, he had wanted to grab a handful of that red hair of hers that was aflame as if it had caught fire from the sparks that seemed to fly from her in her rage and disappointment and kiss her soundly. How very different both their lives would have been if he had surrendered to his desire. But he still thought he had been right to not take her aboard his ship. A man needed to be totally focused to survive on such a perilous journey.
Harry frowned. He had little faith in Callum having survived the northern ocean in autumn despite his having told Bridget to keep her hopes alive. He was going to have to take responsibility for her, but if she knew he was Captain Black Harry, he sensed she might do something desperate rather than accept his help. She would very likely run away from him and end up in further trouble. He had to think up a plan that would ensure her safety, not just for the next week or two, but for the future. In the meantime he had to ensure that she did not realise he was the man she appeared to despise.
Bridget stirred, wondering what had disturbed her sleep. She could hear a bird singing and eased herself into a sitting position. She had been dreaming of Captain Black Harry and it was not anger she had felt, but a wild excitement. She supposed it was to be expected that she would dream of him now she was here on Madeira where his ship had last been seen. Where was he now? There had been a time after he and her father had set sail when she could not get him out of her mind.
This latest dream had shocked her and she could only believe that her mind was playing tricks on her. There was no way that she would ever take Black Harry as a lover after what he’d done to her.
Besides, she knew the man’s real identity, which was one of the reasons she had set out in search of him and her father, as Harry himself was unaware of it. She had initially been accompanied by Lady Elizabeth Stanley, who had befriended her when she was in London, her ladyship’s maid, Hannah, and Joshua Wood, a childhood friend of Black Harry, whose real name had turned out to be Harry Appleby. Shockingly, he was heir to a manor in Lancashire and a house and business in London, so no doubt he would not consider her good enough for him. How could she even imagine him making love to her in the light of all these facts? She must be mad!
Her eyes roamed the room and she noticed that the bowl and drying cloth had been removed. She must have fallen into a deep sleep, indeed, to have been unaware of the captain or Joe’s entry. How long had she slept? She needed to speak to the captain. What was his name? Her wits had indeed gone begging for her not to have asked that simple question.
She heard voices outside and looked towards the window. The shutters were wide open, allowing sunlight and a flower–scented breeze into the room, along with birdsong. She wanted to be up and doing and longed to be outside in the fresh air. Suddenly she noticed her green gown and silk shift on the chest and her face lit up. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
Her knees shook and she realised that she was still weak from her illness, but, by holding on to the bed, she managed to reach its foot and sank down on to the chest. Her fingers fastened on the skirt of her gown and she drew it towards her, along with her shift. She held them to her face and breathed in the smell of the ocean breeze and that of lavender. She wasted no more time, but dragged off the captain’s shirt and hastened to pull the shift over her head. It proved more difficult putting on her gown, due to the weight of its skirts.
Once dressed, Bridget felt much better, so decided to unbraid her hair and let it hang loose. If only she had the company of another female to help wash and comb it. She had spent most of her childhood with women until her Irish mother, Mary, had died and her father had taken her with him on his ship, due to his fear of her being abducted by one of the rival Irish clans. She recalled her excitement and had looked forward to a more interesting life. She’d had to familiarise herself with his ship and become accustomed to all–male company. The crew had spoilt her and she had come to feel less awkward in the company of men, to love the sea and visiting new places. She had admired her big strong red–haired father, but never forgot the long weeks that she and her mother had spent waiting for his return from sea. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of all that was lost to her. She could very likely be an orphan now.
There came a knock on the door. ‘May I come in?’
Bridget recognised the captain’s voice and her heart leapt. Swiftly she wiped her face, not wanting him to consider her a weak female. It had been a mistake, thinking of the past. It was the present and future that were important. She must persuade this man to help her further.
‘Please do, Captain,’ she called.
The door opened and he stood, gazing at her with an expression in his indigo eyes that brought a blush to her cheeks. ‘You are dressed and looking much improved in health, Mistress McDonald. I deem that you are almost fit to leave this place,’ he said.
The colour drained from her face; it appeared to her that he would be rid of her that day and she was not ready to cope alone just yet. Despite her wanting to be up and doing, this house had proved to be a safe haven. How could she possibly manage alone and penniless in a foreign land?
She cleared her throat. ‘I do understand, Captain, your wanting to be rid of me because you have your business to attend to—but I must confess my limbs are still a little weak. I much appreciate your hospitality. I only wish I could reimburse you, but I have no money. Yet if you are prepared to continue to help me, then I will see that you are rewarded.’
‘I ask for no reward,’ he said abruptly. ‘You look pale and still need to rest.’
‘I am better than I was,’ she murmured, tilting her chin.
There was a silence.
‘You are English, Captain, and have told me that you were one of my father’s shipmates. Does that mean you were once a pirate, too?’
Harry stiffened. ‘Never.’
She flushed with embarrassment for she felt as if she had insulted him. She cleared her throat. ‘May I ask why you decided to live here on Madeira? You never thought of sailing home with my father?’
‘No, he never took me into his confidence before he disappeared. By the purest stroke of luck, I was able to perform a service to the owner of this villa whilst on the other side of the world. There was a skirmish with the natives and I saved his life. We conversed and discovered we had a common ambition, so that is why I set sail in company with him and his companions for Madeira.’
‘What was this ambition of yours?’ she asked.
‘I wished to sail around the coast of Africa to the Indies. I hope that answer will suffice for the moment. Right now I would know more