Summary:
This is the story of a pirate and the lady he loves. I really can't explain it. This one has been so much fun to write. You'll just have to read what I've got so far to know what's going on. Enjoy! FEEDBACK!!!!!
Last Updated on Wednesday, October 19th, 2005
The warm, tropical breeze of the Caribbean blew in from the harbor, through the open windows of Abigail Buxton�s room, blowing the soft, curly wisps of her auburn hair away from her bronzed shoulders. She wore a white, off the shoulder, evening gown made of French lace and silk, the sleeves belling out at the elbow. Her hair was pulled up into a full chignon, small tendrils falling loose, trailing down across her neck and shoulders. A sapphire cut in the shape of a heart, set in a mold of silver, hanging from a silver chain, sat elegantly at her throat, small sapphire teardrops adorning her earlobes. Her hazel eyes shone with a light of approval as she smoothed the front of her dress.
Knock, Knock!
Abigail turned, her skirts swishing as she moved to face the door. �Come in.�
Her elderly grandmother, Duchess Beatrice Buxton, entered, carrying a box laden with silver, the Buxton coat of arms engraved into the lid. �Evening, dear. Come sit. I�ve brought you something.�
Abigail watched as the frail older woman sat on the chaise not five feet away. She gracefully took her place next to her. �What is it, Nana?�
Beatrice looked at her granddaughter with eyes that had at one time been a soft blue, but had dimmed with age, to a placid gray. She looked so tired. Abigail remembered what she used to be. She used to be so active, so full of life. She was no longer the beauty that Port Royal talked all over about. She was just Nana; aging, frail, arthritis-ridden Nana.
�This was to be your wedding present someday, but....� She didn�t have to finish. Abigail knew what she was about to say. �...I may not live to see it.�
She placed a hand over her Nana�s wrinkled, shaking one. �It�s alright, Nana. You�re not going anywhere. You�ll be around for a long time.�
A faint smile made its way to Beatrice�s mouth, but Abigail could tell it was forced. There was no life left in Nana�s eyes.
�What�s in the box, Nana?�
Beatrice looked down at the box in her lap. She handed it to Abigail. �Open it, dear.�
Abigail gently lifted the lid and gazed inside. It was the Buxton family jewels. The sapphire encrusted, silver crown that had been passed down for more than eight generations, sat in the middle, atop a red velvet cushion in the bottom of the box. Next to it were her great-great-great grandmother�s earrings; the earrings were fashioned in the way of the Celtic claudague, to represent her early ancestors� Celtic heritage, except the jewel was not the traditional ruby set in gold, but a sapphire, set in silver. Than there was the necklace that was around her neck. It had belonged to an ancestor, Mary, Queen of Scots. It�d been handed off to a trusted member of the family shortly before she was executed by Elizabeth I in 1587. Lastly, there was the Buxton family ring. It boasted the family coat of arms on the inside of the silver band, a three karat sapphire, surrounded by diamonds, placed in the middle and gleaming with promise.
�Oh, Nana. I don�t know what to say. They�re beautiful. Thank you.� She said, genuinely appreciative of the gift, setting the box on the nightstand next to her bed. �I�ll cherish them always.�
This time Beatrice boasted a genuine smile. Abigail could see it in her eyes that she�d truly made her grandmother happy.
Knock, Knock!
A short black housemaid stuck her head in, not even waiting to be welcomed. �Miz Abigail! Yo mama be callin� fo� yo. Ye best make haste. Da govner�s carriage be waitin� on yo.�
Abigail smiled. �I�ll be down shortly, Melena. Tell my mother that I�m at audience with my grandmother.�
�Yes, ma�am.� And the young African was gone.
�Your mama never has been a patient woman.� Nana laughed. It had been a long time since she�d last seen her laugh. �Come, darling. Put on your mask. We don�t want any of those young suitors to know who you are.� Beatrice smiled.
�Oh, Nana!� Abigail returned, flustered. �I�m in no hurry to find a suitor. If God has one for me tonight, than so be it, but I�m not out looking for one.�
Beatrice just kept smiling as she tied her granddaughter�s mask for the masquerade ball. How time seemed to fly. Her Abigail was growing up.
�Nana?� Abigail whispered, turning to face the elderly woman. She enveloped her in a long, warm hug. �I love you.�
�I love you, too, child. You�re the light of my life. God was gracious when he blessed me with you.� Beatrice looked as if she were about to cry. �Now, hurry. We don�t want you to be late, and I want to hear all about it when you return.�
Abigail turned to look at her grandmother as she opened the door to leave. That smile, those eyes, that kind, gentle soul that was so much a part of who Beatrice was. Abigail would remember that picture of her Nana for many years to come.
Abigail descended the grand staircase, watching as Melena brought her, her white, French lace wrap. She kissed her friend on the cheek, than walked from the house. Her mother was already in the carriage, no doubt steaming over the possibility of being late. Her poor father was probably stuck there, having to listen as Kandace Buxton ranted and raved.
Caden Buxton was a tall, muscular man with gracious eyes and a glowing smile. He adored his only daughter, showering her with the utmost affections. He was very much like his mother, Beatrice; kind-hearted and generous.
�Abigail! Hurry up this instant. We�re apt to be late if we don�t pick up the pace.� Kandace called from the window of the waiting carriage.
Abigail almost ran. Once safely inside, she knew she was going to have to listen to her mother�s scolding.
�I don�t know why you insist on being late. Tonight, all of Port Royal�s eligible bachelors will be at the governor�s villa, and you�re going to make them wait? Who�s daughter are you?�
Abigail tried to ignore her.
�I�m talking to you, Abigail Buxton!�
�Kandace, leave her be.� Caden said, casting a merciful look to his daughter. �We�ll be there in plenty of time.�
The rest of the species, she thought, was a waist of time. Oh, well. The night�ll be over soon, and than I can go to bed and forget all about it.
Governor Henry Morgan and his wife, Mary Elizabeth, stood at the head of the receiving line, greeting their guests with warm smiles. As she hugged Mary Elizabeth, and turned to proceed down the line, her hand was caught in a gentle grip, the perpetrator standing right in front of her. His wavy, dark brown locks were pulled back with a leather thong, his dark blue, peircing eyes staring back at her from behind an elegant black mask. His head lowered over her hand as he brushed his lips ever so gently across it. As he looked up at her, their eyes met for only a moment. But more was said in that look, than words could�ve ever conveyed. He gave her a dashing smile, and she felt as if she might swoon.
�Save me a dance?� He whispered. For a moment, she wasn�t even sure he�d really said anything. That she�d only imagined it. But when he asked it of her again, a little louder the second time, she nodded the affirmative. With the way he made her feel, he could have every dance as far as she was concerned. �I�ll catch up with you later this evening.� His smile unarmed her. His strong jaw line made him look authoritive. He was dressed in a black, lace-up shirt, black knee breeches, black stockings, and a pair of black shoes with brass buckles. Muscular arms were all too apparent beneath the thin material of his shirt. Handsome wasn�t even close to what she was thinking. He was gorgeous.
�I�ll see you than, m�lord.� she said, slightly curtsying to him, moving on, on stiff legs. He had to be someone of importance to be here. She�d never heard of the Governor inviting commoners to his gala balls. Not that it would�ve mattered to her. She personally enjoyed being with the normal, hardworking people in town, than with most people of her own class, who mostly sat around and did nothing of real importance in the first place.
The ballroom was lit by four massive chandeliers. Where the house help ever found a ladder tall enough to reach them, so that those candles could be lit, was beyond her. Couples swept one another across the dance floor. Nobleman and ladies were dressed in their finest. Some masks were covered in diamonds or pearls or rubies or emeralds. Her own mask, glittering with mere plastic sequins, looked drab compared to those of others. But it did little to matter to her. She was no slave to fashion.
The town gossips, which consisted of just about every woman in town, stood across the room, huddled together like a bunch of giggling school girls. They watched every move everyone made, just desperate to come up with some lie to spread across town. Abigail would do anything to avoid them, but if faced with meeting up with one, she tried her best to be polite.
As the night grew older, several gentleman claimed her for every dance. It wasn�t uncommon for her to have five different partners in the span of one song. By the time the last dance was called, she was exhausted. She didn�t think she could move anymore.
�May I have this last dance, m�lady?�
Abigail didn�t even look up, just blatantly keeping her head down, her eyes closed. �I�m sorry, Sir, I�m very tired. Could you perhaps find another?�
For a moment there was silence, and than a hand reached down for her own. �I don�t want another.�
At that she looked up into a pair of deep blue eyes; eyes that seemed to pierce the very depths of her soul. It was the young man from earlier. She�d meant to inquire about him to Mary Elizabeth, but it�d completely slipped her mind. Now he stood, towering above her, his big hand holding her smaller one ever so gently in its grasp. At that moment, she felt a strength overtake her. Like out of nowhere, a bolt of energy hit her. She stood to accept his request. But before she could give an answer. He�d swept her onto the dance floor. His right arm was clenched tight around her waist, while his left hand was holding hers as they waltzed to the music. In his arms, she felt as if everything had faded into the murky depths of the Caribbean. All that existed here and now was her and the man that held her. She was so caught up in his warm eyes, his strong embrace and bright smile. He enchanted her.
If only, she thought, I could remain here forever.
�Henry, dear, have you seen Eric?� Mary Elizabeth asked quietly as her husband swept her across the marble floor, among almost four hundred guests.
Henry Morgan�s eyes traveled the faces around them. There was no sign of his younger half-brother. �No, dear. He�s nowhere in sight.�
�Do you think we should go and look for him?� She inquired.
Henry looked down at his beautiful wife. She worried about Eric as if he were their own child. And he guessed, in a way, he was. Eric had only been fourteen when he�d been sent to them. His cousin, the Duke of Abermarle, could no longer handle his rebellious ways. Mary Elizabeth had pampered him from the get-go, but of all the love they�d given, at seventeen he�d voiced his plans to become a privateer with business against Madrid and the Spanish Inquisition. Henry couldn�t fairly object, because that was the way he�d made his living from the time he was fifteen years of age. So, against his wife�s pleading, he allowed him to go, but made it clear that if Eric found himself hanging for piracy, there was nothing he could do to save him.
�He�s around here somewhere, sweetheart. Stop worrying. He�s a big boy now. He can handle himself.�
Mary Elizabeth looked up at him with a subdued smile. She was trying to believe him. Still, her heart wanted to worry.
With twelve o�clock on its way, there was one less couple on the dance floor. Abigail had been escorted out to the lavish English gardens at the back of the house. There, under the moonlight, she walked hand in hand with the young man who�d obviously stolen her heart. At midnight, they�d remove their masks, as was customary.
Rows of crimson red roses lined the wall to the south. Their heady fragrance caused her senses to dance. Looking up at him, she blushed. He was watching her, smiling at every move she made. �You�re beautiful, m�lady.� He said, placing a hand at the small of her back, drawing her close. �Not even the stars could outshine you.�
She shivered, not from the cold, but from the goose bumps that made trails up her arms. He was certainly charming.
He obviously felt her shiver, because he wrapped his arms around her, her head against his chest. She could feel his chin resting on top of her head. She could smell the scent of cinnamon on his clothes. Her hands were intertwined behind his back, holding close to him. This was somewhere she never wanted to leave.
Dong...Dong...Dong...Twelve o�clock.
Pulling away slightly, she reached behind her head to untie the piece of material that separated them. But his hands moved up to stop her. �Let me.� He offered. Her hands fell to her sides. She could feel his work-roughened hands as they traced the lines of her face, gently. One went to the back of her head and fiddled with the ribbon, pulling it free of its bow, the mask falling to the ground at her feet. His dark eyes took in every curve of her face. She couldn�t help but blush even more.
�Your turn...� She whispered, her hand going to the back of his head, her fingers intertwining with his soft, silky locks, trying to reach the black ribbon in back. Than she stopped, staring into his eyes, lost in their murky depths. His face was getting closer. Her eyes automatically shut, awaiting his lips to claim hers, but they never came. She opened her eyes to look up and he was just staring at her. What a fool, thinking he was going to kiss you!
She pulled away, embarrassment overtaking her. Why had she been so presumptuous, so stupid?
�I�m sorry...� He said, turning her back towards him. �I don�t even know your name.�
�Abigail.�
�Abigail...� he whispered, pulling her again into his arms. She felt his breath on her skin, her eyes closed, feeling him so close.
�Abigail!� came her mother�s voice from the house.
She opened her eyes in alarm, seeing he�d already set his eyes on the veranda. �I must go.�
His eyes showed great understanding, and he let her go. With difficulty beyond beleif, she left him standing there alone, trying to prepare herself to face her mother. She knew she was in for an earful, but she didn�t really care. She�d spent the night with the most wonderful man that God had ever made.
On the veranda, Kandace was calling at the top of her lungs for Abigail.
�Mama...I�m here.� She said, coming up the steps from the garden. �What�s the matter?�
By this time, Abigail could see the tears that had fallen down her mother�s cheeks. �It�s your Nana. Melena came to get your father. We�ve got to hurry.�
The news, for a moment, rendered her immobile. No, dear God, not Nana. The happiness that had enveloped her just moments before fell under her feet, replaced by grieving sorrow for the one woman she held most dear.
At her grandmother�s bedside, Abigail remained for several hours. Beatrice woke every once in a while, engulfed in a fitful sweat. The physician had said that she didn�t have much longer, so there Abigail stayed. She prayed for what seemed like hours, praying that God would spare her grandmother, or at least take her without so much pain.
The sun had long since gone down. Only a kerosene lamp offered a soft light. Beatrice asked questions. Some, Abigail herself couldn�t answer. She could hear the soft rasp as her grandmother tried to talk. She knew the time was drawing near.
�Nana...� Abigail whispered, her head resting next to Beatrice�s limp hand. Tears fell down her cheeks in tides. Her heart was breaking to the point that it was physical pain. �Nana, please, don�t go.�
She felt the older woman�s hand on her hair, her fingers brushing gently through the soft strands. �Abigail,� Beatrice whispered, �the good Lord allowed me the privilege...to watch you grow up and become the...lady you are.�
�Oh, Nana.�
�Remember to always look to Him when you don�t know where to go...Only He can guide you in the way you should go.�
�You can�t leave me.� Sobs racked Abigail�s body, fallen tears making pools on the bed sheets below. �Nana...I love you.�
Tears welled in Beatrice�s eyes. �I love you, too...�
A silence fell over the room, like the dreaded cloak of death had come to settle a score.
�Nana?� She whispered. When no answer came, she looked up. Beatrice�s hand lay limp at her side. Her chest no longer rose and fell with each breath. Her eyes were closed, as if she were only sleeping.
Boldly, Abigail rose and lifted a sheet across her grandmother�s still form. She had to leave. The tears were coming even harder now. She ran down the hall as fast as her legs would carry her, away from that room where only death seemed to reign supreme. Her room seemed to be the only safe haven. She lay upon her bed, crying, tears soaking the pillow. �Oh, dear Lord, why?� She kept repeating.
From across the room, she heard her door creak open, but she didn�t bother to see who it was. She didn�t really care anymore. She just wanted to die herself, it seemed. She wouldn�t be feeling all the pain that went along with losing someone she held so close to her heart. At least if she were dead, she could join Beatrice at God�s right hand.
�Abigail...� she heard her father whisper. So that�s who it was. �Sweetheart, I�m sorry.�
She heard the pain in his voice. She could�ve kicked herself. Here she was crying her eyes out, and rightly so, but her father had just lost his mother. He had to be hurting far more.
�Papa...� she said, sitting up. He came to sit with her. She hugged him tight. And for the first time in her life, she saw him cry. It broke her heart that much more. �I�m the one who�s sorry.�
He looked up at her, a forced smile on his face, tears in his eyes. �She�s in a much better place, Abigail. Be sure of that. God has His hand in this.� He bent to kiss her forehead, than got up to leave.
�Goodnight, Papa.� She said as he disappeared.
Alone once again, she decided to ready for bed. Tomorrow might look a tad brighter. She wiped at her face with a clean, wet cloth to clean the make up and oils from her skin. She let her auburn curls fall from their place at the back of her head, crowding across her shoulders. She removed the earrings and necklace, placing them into the box her grandmother had given her just hours before. Slipping into a white chemise, she buried herself under the covers, hoping to get a few hours sleep before the sun rose too high and the heat became unbearable. She thought about the events the night before. The happy moments with...Him. Now that she thought about it she didn�t know his name or what he looked like. She�d not had the chance to get it from him in her haste to leave. But she did remember the way his arms held her tightly to him. She could still feel them around her, like steel bars warding off anything that thought to harm her. And than, for the first time since news of her grandmother came, she smiled.
Eric had stayed behind in the garden for a long time after Abigail had left. By the urgency in the voice that called her, he could tell it was a matter of great importance. He�d planned on kissing her the first time. She was undeniably beautiful. But the second time...if he'd had just a moment longer, he would've kissed her. Something about her had caused him to pull her back.
Oh, well...
He�d never see her again. He�d go to sleep and wake up in the morning, not even remembering her name. He�d had more than his fair share of women, especially those French ones on Tortuga. They were all the same. Women.
The fresh Caribbean breeze swept across his face. He remembered that longing to caress her lips with his, a longing that shook him right down to his very bones. He groaned. He�d been insanely attracted to her. Looking down at the ground, it was than that he�d seen it. Her white masquerade mask lay there at his feet. He bent down to pick it up. It�s sequins sparkled in the moonlight. Bringing it to his nose, he breathed in its intoxicating scent. It smelled of strawberries, like her. A contented grin crossed his lips.
There was just something different about her...maybe it was her apparent innocence...no it was something else...but what?
He tried to shrug it off. For now, he had more important things to worry about. He was supposed to meet with several of the other buccaneer captains aboard his ship, the Ticonderoga, at sunrise. He needed to inform Henry and Mary Elizabeth that he�d be sleeping aboard the Ticonderoga tonight. If those ruthless barbarians, that called themselves honorable men, boarded his ship unsupervised, he�d be branded an outright fool. His crew would be outnumbered. So with that thought, he strode up the path toward the house, trying to force Abigail from his thoughts.
�You can�t be serious, Papa!� Abigail ranted.
Caden Buxton didn�t know what to say. This news wasn�t easy. �You are the next Duchess of Wales. Your grandmother wanted it that way, and I will honor her wishes. There are certain responsibilities that come along with that, including marriage to a nobleman.�
Abigail�s jaw dropped. �But who, Papa? Certainly you wouldn�t have me married off to a rich, old coot.�
�No one like that, but I do have one in mind. He was here last year when the King�s fleet came into port. He�s captain of it�s flag ship; an honorable young man. Remember him? Sir Randall Barrington? He was personally knighted by the king. I think he would be a perfect match.�
�Papa, no. Please don�t marry me off to him. He�s no gentleman.�
�You are just being picky, Abigail. He�s from a good Christian family. And unless you wish to marry a �rich, old coot,� I suggest you take it. I spoke with him when he was here. He was more than thrilled at the idea of a possible marriage to you.�
She closed her eyes, trying to hold down the anger boiling up inside her. This was an outrage.
�Sleep on it, Sweetheart. Let it soak in. We�ve all had a trying few days. But soon, you will have to come to a decision. Either you marry Sir Randall or you will lose your title.�
She thought to argue, but knew better. Her father wasn�t one to tolerate backtalk. She just nodded and started toward the stairs. She needed to find her safe haven.
That night as she slipped beneath the covers of her bed, she prayed for her Heavenly Father�s guidance. And after her candle had long since gone out, she still had not been given a peace, despite her pleadings for one. She knew what she must do. Wait. She�d talk to her father in the morning. Surely what God wanted for her life was far more important than this preposterous marriage. When she finally fell into a fitful sleep, she saw his face.
�Papa!� She called, walking into the nursery on the south end of the plantation. �Mama said you came out here! Papa?�
She walked down the line of flowers to her father�s bench. There he was; sound asleep. She smiled.
�Papa?� She whispered, shaking him gently. He opened his eyes to look at her. They were bloodshot. �Are you okay? You don�t look like you slept at all last night.�
�I didn�t. Sweetheart, I�ve got to tell you how sorry I am. I shouldn�t have given you an ultimatum. You still keep your title if you choose not to marry, but...I want to see that someone�s taking care of you.� He said, his head in his hands. �I prayed all night about it. The Lord has shown me that it isn�t my decision on who or if you marry, its His, and His alone.�
�Oh, Papa,�she said, a ball lodging itself in her throat. �Thank you.�
He hugged her, tears falling from both their cheeks. �I love you, Abigail. I�d never intentionally hurt you, but I�m afraid I have. Emotionally, anyway.�
�It�s alright.� She said.
He pulled back, using his hankie to wipe his eyes, and than handed it to her. �We want say another word about it. We�ll wait on the Father, but in the meantime, I�ve invited Sir Randall to join us as our guest for your coming-out party. You could at least get to know him. Please, promise me you will at least do that.�
She nodded, smiling, feeling as if a boulder had been lifted from her shoulders.
�Your mother has begun planning the ball. I believe you might want to put in your two cents before she gets carried away.� He said, a new light coming to his eyes as he laughed.
Kandace Buxton had planned an extravagant feast and ball in honor of her only child. She�d hired the best musicians in all of Europe to play. Madame Cordova, Port Royal�s most renowned seamstress, had been commissioned to replenish Abigail�s wardrobe to that befitting a duchess. Abigail had learned to stay out of the way as her mother made plans and carried them out, so she went with Melena when she went to deliver the invitations. No one in Port Royal knew that she had received her grandmother�s title. It would be formally announced at the ball. In the meantime, they wanted to protect her from possible enemies.
The morning of the ball, Abigail and Melena were walking back from inviting the governor and Mary Elizabeth. The only bad thing about coming without a buggy was that the streets were full of drunk pirates. The taverns up and down the waterfront probably didn�t have a drop of rum left. The few that remained sober were moving around, helping the drunk ones back to their ships. The ones that refused help hobbled all over. Two Spaniards, by the looks of them, seemed to have taken a liking to Abigail, because they followed them down Carlisle Street a ways before approaching her.
�Now ye look here, matie! Tis a virtuous doxy and her slave wench. Look right nice if ye be askin me!� One drawled, his breath reeking of foul drink, while the other put his hands on Abigail. She turned on a dime and slapped him. Than the other started to feel her up. Melena was helpless but to run for help from the main house. Neither of her attackers gave a second glance to her; probably hadn�t even realized she was gone.
�Keep your hands off of me, you scum.�
�Ye watch yer mouth, wench!� He raised his hand to smack her. She clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the blow to come.
�Fransisco! Armand!� Came a voice from behind them. Her eyes popped open. �Unhand the lady!�
Her eyes traveled in the direction of the Spaniards� gaze. Dressed in a white buccaneer lace-up shirt and faded breeches with knee-high boots, there stood her rescuer. His voice rang with authority, seemingly scaring the living daylights out of them; even though he looked at least ten years younger than the two men he was commanding. They immediately released her.
The man scanned her as if to see if she�d been hurt in anyway. Than his eyes rested on the two on either side of her. �Return to your ship! Your captain will hear of this!�
�Come now, we�s not hurtin the senorita! We�s jus bein friendly, mon capitan!�
�I said go!� He said, asserting a threat into those few words. Fransisco and Armand sauntered off, like two beaten dogs. When they were out of sight, he looked down at her again. In his eyes, she saw what she thought was surprise that immediately became recognition, and than, quickly, it was replaced with amusement. �You should know better, m�lady, than to come here alone, without protection.�
Abigail blushed with embarrassment.
�No need to worry your pretty head. Your secret�s safe with me.� He said, chuckling under his breath. �May I escort you the rest of the way?�
�I don�t want to be an inconvenience, Sir.�
�Eric.� He replied. �Captain Eric Morgan at your service, ma�am. No trouble at all.�
Something was all too familiar about him. Morgan?
�Are you in any relation to Governor Morgan?�
�Yes. I�m Henry�s half-brother. Surprised?�
�Not at all. I mean, you do favor. But I�ve only heard of you from Mary Elizabeth over tea. I�ve never had the honor of meeting you face to face.�
He gave her an ironic look that seemed to say, Haven�t you?
She reached back through her memory. She couldn�t remember ever seeing him at any parties or balls that she�d gone to.
Unless...could he be my mystery man from the governor�s party? She looked up at him. No, not possible...or was it?
�Shall we head for home, madam?� He said, offering his arm. She excepted.
�Mary Elizabeth tells me you�re a privateer. I take it that you favor danger and adventure.�
He looked at her as they walked. �Quite a bit. If you don�t mind my asking, why would someone so young be prancing across Port Royal without a bodyguard?�
�I was delivering an invitation to your brother�s home, inviting he and Mary Elizabeth to attend a ball being held at my family�s estate this evening. You are welcome to come as well, Captain.� She replied, eyeing him. �Besides, I can take care of myself. I�m eighteen. I don�t need someone monitoring my every move.�
�Begging your pardon, m�lady. But if I had not interceded when I did earlier, you may not have come out of it still upholding your unsullied reputation.�
Abigail knew what he meant. She wasn�t naive. She knew he was right. She may not have come out of it unscarred if he hadn�t of come along. �Thank you for coming for me. You didn�t have to.�
�I was raised in England by a cousin who made sure I was taught manners, ethics, and chivalry. I assure you, I couldn�t have walked away from it even if I�d wanted to.�
She smiled up at him, only to find him smiling back. Her cheeks turned cherry red under Eric�s scrutiny.
They walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way. Eric even walked her to the door. �You�re home; safe and sound.�
�Thank you, Captain. I am forever in your debt.�
He smiled. �If you will do me the honor of letting me escort you at the ball this evening, I shall consider the debt paid in full.�
Her breath caught. �It would be my pleasure, Sir.�
�Eric, m�lady.� He returned with a smile.
�Eric�� she breathed.
�Abigail...� He whispered, coming closer.
The way he said my name...interesting.
All of a sudden, the door swung open. There stood her father. �Abigail, thank the Lord, you�re alright.� His gaze went questioningly to Eric. �Melena came running home, babbling about ruffians harrassing you.�
She was quick to defend, imagining he must be thinking the worst about Eric. �Papa, this is Eric Morgan. He�s the one who rescued me.�
Caden�s eyes immediately came to life, his hand going out to Eric. �Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I�m forever in your debt for this.�
Eric shot Abigail an ironic look as he took her father�s hand. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. �An honor it was, I assure you.� His eyes were like lanterns shining in pure darkness, so full of life. �May I ask permission, Sir, to court your lovely daughter at the ball tonight?�
�You may. I�d deem it an honor to have you as our guest this evening.�
�Thank you, Papa.� Abigail said, hugging her father.
Eric smiled. �Well, I must be off. My brother and sister-in-law are expecting me. Until tonight, Miss Abigail.�
Her father followed her into the parlor, where she sat down on the chaise. �You�ve taken a liking to Mr. Morgan, haven�t you?� He asked, a smile on his face.
�Yes, I have. He�s a charming man.�
�I could tell.� He said. �Well, it�s getting late. Go on upstairs. Your mother is waiting for you.�
�Yes, Papa.� She headed for the stairs, and was halfway up before he said, �Is he any relation to the governor?�
�He�s his brother.�
�Than he�s sure to be a charm.� He smiled up at her.
It was growing dark outside, and Abigail lit every candle and lamp that she had. Kandace had long since left to get ready herself. They�d spent hours on Abigail�s hair and dress. She wore an off-the-shoulder, sapphire blue, velvet dress with taffeta-lined skirts, the sleeves loose, belling out around her hands. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight chignon, allowing only a few tendrils to escape down the back of her neck.
Her eyes flew to the box that sat on her bed. The jewels that she was intended to wear tonight sat in that box. She carefully sat it in her lap. Opening its lid, she gazed at those priceless items. Standing in front of her mirror, she attached the earrings, slipped on the ring, and clasped the necklace. But when it came down to the crown, she just stared at it. It had been worn by every royal member of the family for eight hundred years. She wasn�t sure if she was worthy of it. She closed the box, the crown inside. She wasn�t supposed to wear it until her title was formally announced anyway. Picking up the box, she looked at her appearance once more in the mirror. A daughter of the King...no matter what.
Eric waited at the foot of the grand staircase, where Sir Caden had left him to wait on Abigail. He�d done his best to dress in his finest. He wore a white shirt and black coat with tails, a pair of black, leather fall front breeches, black stockings, and black shoes with brass buckles. His dark brown hair was pulled back from his face with a black, silk ribbon, and at his throat was a ruffled neckstock.
A rustle of skirts on the marble floor above brought his attention back to the top of the staircase. It was as if the breath had been knocked out of him. She was beautiful, all bedecked in sapphires. As she descended, it was like she was floating. In her hands was a box, which she handed off to Melena as soon as her feet touched the floor. And than she turned to him. �I was hoping you wouldn�t back out.� She said.
�And miss seeing you as breathtaking as you are at this moment? Never.�
She smiled and her heart soared. She was beautiful to him.
�Your father said to come immediately to the dining room as soon as you came down.� He said, offering her his arm. �So, m�lady, will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?�
�I would have it no other way, m�lord.� She looped her arm through his, feeling the strength of his muscular arms. Tonight, she was the luckiest woman in all the world.
As they entered the dining room, heads turned. But Abigail didn�t care.
Eric led her to the head of the table to sit beside her father and mother. Henry and Mary Elizabeth sat across from her, on the opposite side of her father. Eric pulled her chair out for her, helped her scoot it under the table, and than took the seat beside her. He was a perfect gentleman. And he was all hers. That thought brought a smile to her face.
Over dinner, Eric struck up a conversation of Calvin�s theologies with her father, while she talked with her mother, Governor Morgan, and Mary Elizabeth about anything that came to mind.
�I take it you are a born again believer like your brother, Eric?� Her father posed.
�Yes, Sir. Very much so. I attended Cambridge in England until I was fourteen. Under the strict tutelage of Sir Cedric Mansfeld, I finished at the top of my class.� Eric replied.
�Why on earth would you come here if your opportunities were so promising in London?� Kandace asked, becoming quite interested.
�Our cousin, the Duke of Abermarle, is getting on in years and could no longer handle my boyish antics.� Eric replied simply.
�As they say, Boys will be boys.� Caden fronted. �We�re glad you are here and able to join us, Eric. Henry tells me you are into the shipping business. Spanish goods?�
�Yes, Sir. Anything to keep the Spanish Inquisition from receiving provisions. This treaty with Madrid is absurd.�
�Here, here!� Caden said, lifting his glass.
Melena came from the kitchen to whisper something into Caden�s ear. He nodded and stood. Taking a fork, he tapped it against his glass in order to get everyone�s attention.
�I�ve just been informed that the ballroom is ready for occupation. So, if you will all make your way into the ballroom, I have a very important announcement to make before we set out to enjoy the second half of the evening.� He said, offering his arm to his wife. Over his shoulder, he said, �Abigail, follow Melena.�
Eric relinquished her arm without question, and for that she was grateful. It was too much to explain at the moment.
�Family, friends, honored guests. As many of you already know, my dear mother, Beatrice Buxton, the Duchess of Wales, passed away recently.� He said, clearing his throat. �Her estate, possessions, and title have been passed on to another family member, as was my mother�s wish. So, may I present to you, the guest of honor, my daughter, Abigail Beatrice Buxton, the new Duchess of Wales.�
Abigail rose from her chair and went to stand next to her father. He motioned for Melena to bring the box. From within, he pulled out the family crown. He placed it delicately on her head, situating it so it wouldn�t fall off. The cheers and applause reverberated off the walls.
�Now, as custom, the Duchess will dance the first dance of the evening with the man of her choosing.�
Abigail�s eyes traveled across the faces, and landed on Eric. He was standing close to the back. She walked forward, people moving out of the way, making a path for her. She stopped in front of Eric and reach out her hand. �May I have this dance?�
He wrapped his right arm around her waist and took her hand with other. Bending down, he whispered into her ear. �I�m sorry, Madam, but I�m quite tired. Could you possibly find another?�
Her eyes lit up as the music began. He swept her across the floor, laughter in his eyes.
�I knew it was you.� She said. �Blackguard.�
�You cut me deeply, m�lady.� He said, feigning innocence. �Twas not me. Twas my evil twin.�
She smiled. �I should�ve known. No real gentleman would have tried to kiss a lady during the first hour after meeting her.�
�If the lady is disarmeringly beautiful, it can go to his head, m�lady.�
�Aha! I knew it!� She said.
�You have caught me, dearest Duchess.� He pulled her closer, his arm tight around her.
�Abigail.� She returned.
�Abby.� He said. �May I call you that, m�lady?�
She let her free hand go to his cheek. �With eyes like those, you can call me anything you like.�
He smiled down at her. If they weren�t in the middle of half of Port Royal, he would have kissed her right than, but he thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was a scandal involving the new duchess.
�Abby...� He whispered so that no one else could hear.
She looked up at him, awaiting what he had to say. �Yes?�
�I�m honored that you allowed me to be your partner for tonight.�
�The pleasure has been all mine.�
Eric sat behind the oak desk of his cabin, looking across at Captain Drippy Hogs and Captain Bruno. The two swindlers were after nothing but the treasure of the Spanish galleon, the Don Capitan. If he led them to it, he�d be sinking down to �meet Davy Jones� by nightfall.
�Why should I lead the two of you to the sunken grave of the Don Capitan?�
�Cus ye be the only one who be knowin of its wherebouts.� Hogs said.
�Not true. I was only one of five captains responsible for sinking the galleon. There are others.�
�Argh, but ye be the onliest one we be trustin.� Bruno backed, pulling at his scraggly beard.
�I won�t take you to the Don Capitan.�
Hogs� brows were raised in anger, hands on his dueling pistols.
�You�ll do well to keep your weapons where they are.� Eric said, looking to his faithful lieutenant, who stood across the room by the door. �Rack doesn�t take well to cutthroats.�
Rack was a big man. He�d been a crew member aboard his brother�s ship back while he was still privateering. He�d voiced his loyalty to Eric when he�d signed on. Rack was one of only a few men that he trusted.
Hogs looked over his shoulder at Rack. Bruno�s hand continued to rest on his cutlass.
�This meeting is over, gentlemen. Rack will escort you off this vessel.�
�We be not finished with the likes of you, Morgan.�
The two left, sulking. Eric couldn�t help but smile.
�Captain,� came his mate�s voice from the open doorway. The young boy stood not an inch over five feet, clad in calico britches and a faded red shirt, a red bandana protecting his shaved head.
�Max, come in.�
�Old Schmee wants to know if ye�ll be dining here tonight, Sir?�
�No, I�m having dinner at the Buxton estate. But I�d like to have a spot of coffee upon my return.�
�Aye, Aye, Captain.�
Eric sat back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desktop, his arms behind his head. The thought of Abby Buxton made his heart turn somersaults. She�d been the reason for his distraction all day. She enchanted him more than any woman ever had. No half-caste wench on Tortuga could match her.
�Captain, the longboat�s ready to take you to shore.� Called Rack from outside the cabin door.
Shoving the box into his pocket, he strode from the room.
Abigail sat at her dressing table, looking over her appearance. She�d chosen to only wear the Buxton ring and the Celtic earrings. She wore the same dress that she�d worn the night she first met Eric, three weeks ago. Since the ball, he�d been over for dinner almost every night. Caden loved the talks they had, and Kandace adored him. If he ever popped the question, neither of them would object, she knew.
�Abigail!� Came Caden�s voice from downstairs.
Eric was here. She bolted through the door. Stopping at the top of the stairs, she looked down. Eric was nowhere in sight.
That�s odd...he always waits for me at the foot of the stairs, she thought.
She practically took the stairs two at a time, almost tripping over her skirts.
�Mama? Papa?� She called from the bottom.
�We�re in the sitting room, Abigail.�
She walked with mild apprehension to her left. Inside, her father sat in his favorite overstuffed chair. Her mother was intent on her needlework. The young man sitting across from them, his back to her, was not Eric.
�Abigail. You remember Sir Randall Barrington?�
Her breath caught as Randall turned. His looks certainly hadn�t improved since she last saw him. He still had the look of the devil in his eyes, those emerald pools like smoldering embers. His gaze roamed over her body, making her terribly uncomfortable.
�Sir Randall...� She said, giving a slight curtsy.
�M�lady Buxton...� He said in that roguish voice she remembered so well, the one that always managed to make her sick. He acted as if he were King Charles himself. She�d show him.
�Duchess...� She tried to hold back a smile when his jaw dropped. Apparently he was unaware of her title change. He seemed to be squirming just a bit. Good.
�Good evening all,� came a low, familiar voice from the doorway.
She turned, the swish of her skirts filling the room as she set her eyes on him. �Eric.�
�Ah, Eric, do come in. A guest from London has just arrived. Captain Eric Morgan, this is Sir Randall Barrington.�
Eric�s smile grew as he strode to Abigail�s side. �We�ve met. How goes it, Cousin Rand?�
�Cousin?� Abigail breathed.
�He�s the son of the Duke of Abermarle.� Eric stated, offering his hand in greeting to Randall.
He took it. �Good as always.�
Abigail could feel the tension between the two. Their eyes were locked, as if to stare the other down into submission.
�Let�s venture to the dining room. Cookie has been slaving all day to prepare the perfect dinner.
Caden and Kandace led the way. Following, Eric took Abigail�s hand possessively in his. Rand followed behind like a hornet ready to attack.
�I think Rand was a tad bit jealous tonight, don�t you agree?� Abigail jested as she walked with Eric to the door.
�He apparently thinks he has some sort of chance with you.� Eric said pointedly.
For a long moment, Abigail tried to let the words soak in. Was he suspecting something that just wasn�t there?
�Eric, Randall was here last year when the Royal Navy was in port for repairs. Nothing came of his flirtations, but it apparently didn�t do anything to discourage his advances upon his return. I can�t help if he thinks he�s got a chance, when I�ve done nothing to encourage him.� A single tear found itself falling down her cheek before she could hold it in check.
His features softened as he dared take her in his arms, risking her parents walking into the parlor, but he couldn�t help it. He�d hurt her by suspecting that she�d encouraged Randall. If he could take back the last few minutes to keep from having to see her crying, he would.
�I�m sorry, Abby. I just opened my mouth without thinking. Please forgive me.� He pleaded.
�I do.� She said, wiping the tear from her cheek and smiling half-heartedly up at him.
Letting her go ripped him apart, but he needed to get back to the Ticonderoga.
�I�ll be over sometime tomorrow. It may be late, so I�ll just say I�ll be here for dinner. I�ve got a meeting with some other privateers.�
She smiled.
�What�s that for?�
�I just can�t wait to see you again.� She almost laughed.
Eric rode his horse slow to the gate, waiting to exit upon seeing the lamp in Abigail�s room extinguished for the night. He smiled at the thought of her beautiful eyes lighting up as he�d said he couldn�t wait to see her again. She was so innocent of the world, so fragile, it seemed. But on the inside, she was tough as nails. He knew it.
The upstairs chamber was finally plunged into darkness as it�s mistress blew out the crimson flame. Eric sighed with releif at the thought of his beautiful Abby safe in her bed. Now if only Randall weren�t in the same house...
�Leaving so soon?� came a voice from the shadows as Eric was passing through the gate into the streets of Port Royal. Looking to his left, he caught a glimpse of Randall�s blue and red cape, only attired to the Captain�s of His Majesty�s fleet. He brandished sword and scabbard at his hip, with baldric and pistol against his ribs. He looked more ready for a duel than for a friendly chat with his cousin.
�Randall, I thought you were upstairs catching a few winks.� Eric said, an air of arrogant distaste apparent in his voice.
�No, my cousin, I couldn�t sleep so I decided a little fresh Carribean air would help.� he said, looking up to the window of the house, where only moments before, a lamp�s light had burned bright. �You know the Duchess has already been promised to me.�
Eric sat abroad his horse for a moment more, before swinging down with drawn saber in hand, the point coming just mere inches from Randall�s fleshly neck. �You lying scallywag!�
�Tut tut tut...� said Randall, pushing the point away with his hand. �Lord Buxton has already agreed.�
Eric couldn�t believe his ears. �Lord Buxton would never promise his only daughter to a scoundrel like you, hiding behind the colors of His Majesty. Even with the king�s blessing upon your disgraceful manner, you will never be good enough for a Duchess.�
Randall smiled a coy, sly smile, running his fingers along the sparse goatee at his chin. �It started with an interlude under the stars, on a night much like this. She loves the stars, you know. She�s nothing but a high-born wench fit for the likes of a scoundrel of the King�s Royal Navy.�
Eric�s blood was boiling over by now. In one swift movement, he could slit his cousin�s throat, spilling his life�s source all over the street. �You lie!�
�Suit yourself! But like it or not, she�s sailing back to Mother England with me.�
�You�re out of your mind! Abby can�t stand you!�
�Ah, but �twas her idea to fool you in this way, dear cousin. I see it has worked better than she�d hoped.�
Eric knocked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground. He waisted no time in mounting, setting his horse to a gallop down the cobbled walk. His eyes stung like salt on an open wound. Stabling his horse at the warf, he stormed down the pier to the waiting long boat. He was boiling over mad. When Sven, his master gunner, questioned his mood, he tried to ignore him. It still hurt too much. It felt like he�d been stabbed with a jagged French dagger and than been thrown into the salty sea. Talking about it wouldn�t help.
When the Ticonderoga was in sight, Eric discarded his dueling pistols and sword onto the floor of the boat, and plunged into the dark depths of the Caribbean. He figured the swim might help cool his temper. But when he swung himself over the bow of the ship, he was still hot. Rack didn�t say anything as his captain passed. He knew if Eric spoke now, he�d say something he�d regret. So after retrieving his weapons from Sven, he went to his cabin and locked himself in.
He sat at his desk, a glass of kill-devil rum sitting in front of him. If he drank it, he�d be dead in under an hour. And at the moment, that seemed like the best decision. But he just couldn�t bring himself to do it.
He got up and opened one of the windows behind his desk. Below were the calm dark depths of the Carribean. Above were the stars, shining like Abby�s eyes, looking down at him. He reached into his pocket for the box containing the ring. He looked at it for a moment, fingering the sleek gold finish. No Spanish senorita could ever wear this ring the way his Abby could. My Abby?
Without even thinking, he tossed the box into the water below. She wasn�t his. She belonged with Randall. He looked back to the glass of dark amber liquid. Just one sip...that�s all it would take...
He held it at arm�s length for a moment, and than poured it over the side.
She�s not worth the agony.
He sat back down and pulled out his maps. The Ticonderoga would set sail at first light. He needed to get as far away from Abigail Buxton as possible. They�d find some unsuspecting Spanish galleon and sink it. Than collect the booty. It would be atleast a month before repairs would send them back to Port Royal. By that time, Abigail would probably be long gone with Randall.
�Captain...� came Rack�s voice from the other side of the locked door. �Someone be here to see ye.�
Eric walked to door and opened it. He didn�t know who he expected but certainly not his friend, Captain Lance Corporal.
�Lance, my friend, when did you return from the Main? Last I heard, you�d been cornered off Maracaibo, and taken prisoner by those Spanish dogs with an appointment at Execution Dock.�
�Just rumors. Those Spaniards couldn�t hold me. We sank two galleons, taking a third to hold all the loot. I now have a flag ship. Who�da thought that this poor, meaningless pirate would ever warrant that of a Spanish Don.� Lance laughed. �One less payload for Madrid.�
Lance was a handsome man. His royal upbringing in London gave him an air of grace and authority. He was a scamp if anyone ever was.
�So what brings you here, Dear Prince?�
�Come now, don�t give me away.� his friend jested. �I wanted to invite you and your crew to join me on Tortuga for a few weeks, to share in the fortune I�ve just come into.�
Eric smiled. Just what he needed. �I do believe I�ll take you up on your offer, Lance, old boy. When do we leave?�
�At noon tomorrow. My ship�s undergoing some minor repairs. The pesky barnacles eating away at poor Celeste�s hull."
�That�ll give me just enough time to send word to my brother of my departure.� Eric stated.
Than I�ll see you in the morning, old chap.� Than Lance was gone.
Abby awoke to a bright sunshine filtering through her draped window. She smiled. Today was going to be a glorious day. She�d get to see Eric later on in the afternoon. They�d talk and laugh, and she�d revel in his presence.
