The Buccaneer(2)

“I insist you allow me to send someone along, presumably a large man, to protect you, just in case…”

She didn’t care for the way he purposely let his words trail off. “You know the terms he insisted upon. I was to come alone. He promised my safety.”

“He’s a pirate! The scourge of the sea,” Charles shouted. “His word means nothing.”

Catherine wasn’t able to control the shudder of fear that raced through her.

Charles was instantly contrite. “Forgive me, Catherine. It was unkind of me to speak so.”

“I have no choice. No choice,” she repeated as if convincing herself. “I must do this.” Tears filled her eyes and she fought gallantly to control them.

Charles slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder and drew her against him. “When you reach his island you will post a letter to me on the first vessel sailing.”

She agreed with a nod.

“If I do not hear from you soon— I shall sail after you myself.”

And he would, Catherine thought.

“Understood?” he asked, releasing her and standing.

“Understood, but I’ll be fine,” she assured him as well as attempting to assure herself. “I’ll write immediately.”

“Good,” he said, sounding relieved.

“You will make certain father doesn’t learn of any of this until the appropriate time, as we discussed.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything.”

“The only thing that matters right now is his health. The physician says that he is making a remarkable recovery and that his heart is growing stronger every day. I want him to continue to improve.”

“I agree, Catherine. It would do his health little good if he learned of this.”

“As soon as Captain Lucifer and I marry, he promised he’d give me the remaining proof of father’s innocence. I will send the papers to you immediately.”

“And what then?”

“Then all will be settled, and I’ll hear no more. I have but two hours time before my coach leaves. I have much to do.” She did not want to think beyond the wedding. The prospect was too frightening.”

Charles nodded reluctantly. “As you say.”

Catherine walked over to him and kissed him lightly on his cheek. “Thank you for being such a good friend. I feel safe knowing you will be here to protect father.”

“Do not worry about your father. He’ll be fine. He’s a fighter, a survivor.”

Catherine smiled and patted his arm. “So am I.”

She remained in the small sitting room after Charles left. The fire toasted the room to simmering warmth and the heavy green velvet drapes, though drawn back, kept the chill of winter at bay. She felt safe and secure as she had upon first arriving here fifteen years ago at the tender age of four.

Her mother having been a widow for two years had found herself in an arranged marriage with the Marquis of Devonshire. Catherine had been nervous about meeting her new father and her mother had warned her repeatedly to be on her best behavior. But she needn’t have worried. It was love at first sight for the little girl, who had been scooped up into the marquis’s strong arms and hugged and kissed. At that moment Randolph Abelard had become her knight in shining armor and her love and admiration for him had grown over the years.

Especially when she had found her lessons difficult and her tutor had brazenly informed the marquis that his stepdaughter was stupid and unable to learn. The tutor was dismissed immediately with no letter of recommendation. It was then that Randolph Abelard had begun to teach Catherine himself.

It had been hard for her to learn. The letters never looked the same to her and the numbers confused her, but Randolph Abelard would not give up nor would he allow her to give up. He repeatedly, and with great patience, explained to her that she should take her time and think things through. Great minds, he had informed her, never hurried.

To this day she was forever grateful for the world of knowledge Randolph Abelard had opened for her. And to her he would always be her real father. She often found herself still listening to his advice to “think things through.” This is precisely what she had done when the letter with the offer of help had arrived from Captain Lucifer.

She had thought, debated and considered her options. There had been none. She had had no choice. Three weeks after receiving the captain’s letter she had sent one of her own, simply stating that she agreed to his terms.

Catherine stood and reprimanded herself for reminiscing. “Enough. You have much to do before you leave.”

Dulcie, her personal servant, was busy filling Catherine’s traveling case with her toiletries as she entered her room on the second floor. Short and plump, Dulcie was a ball of energy and gossip. Her hands worked as fast as she spoke. And her face, though full, was pretty, with thick dark lashes, rosy cheeks and a saucy smile. Dulcie had her fair share of male admirers and though the same age as Catherine, she was wise far beyond her nineteen years. Dulcie’s present companion Henry routinely followed her around like a love-starved puppy.