Trade Winds Read online

  “We’ll talk more later, nug,” he said with affection. “Right now I need to settle some things with Captain Stafford.”

  Golden looked up to Mast with a tender smile. “All right, Papa. But don’t let him bully you around. He’s all growl and no bite.”

  Wayland’s eyebrows jumped into his hairline but Golden beamed a wide smile and a gentle wave as she joined Dinky and Maya to walk up to the villa.

  Mast tugged on the bottom of his gold-edged jacket, and set his jaw above the stock he’d tucked into it. One more time, he prayed for strength and conviction.

  His friend strode over the gangway then stopped with one boot braced against the deck. “Permission to come aboard, Captain.”

  “My Lord Gaverly, that is a ridiculous request.”

  Wayland chuckled and crossed onto the deck. He pulled Mast into a rugged handclasp. “God’s glory, it’s wonderful to have you back, lad.”

  “It is good to be here, sir.”

  Wayland’s gaze glittered with curiosity as he took in Mast’s elaborate clothes. He lifted his head, perusing the shrouds, sails, decking, and rails. “The old lady looks splendid.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You, on the other hand, look like hell.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Mast likened his friend’s face to a rampaging bull now more than ever. Wayland’s lips twisted and his eyes narrowed. “All right, Mast. What on this side of Hades are you harboring in that stubborn skull?”

  Mast twisted his hands together behind his back. “I took the liberty of having one of the ship’s prize bottles of brandy brought to my quarters, Lord Gaverly,” he rushed out in answer. “Would you allow me the pleasure of sharing it with you?”

  Wayland rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. I have a hitchy hunch I’m going to need a drink for this, anyway.”

  Not as much as I, my friend.

  The thought was a damning echo as he escorted Wayland below.

  Everything in his cabin was as orderly as he’d left it, though he doubted Golden’s presence would ever be completely erased from the space. He wondered if Wayland noticed it. The fresh, salty scent of her in the air. The way she liked the bed pillows arranged, piled high atop one side of the bunk. The rainbow she’d created on his bookshelf by re-sorting his books according to their cover colors and not their authors.

  He bid Wayland to be. His friend sank into the velvet reading chair, not showing if he observed anything out of the ordinary.

  But the stroke of luck was fleeting. Mast turned with the two glasses of brandy to find Wayland leaning forward, gaping at the floor.

  “Don’t tell me you put that there,” he queried.

  Mast only followed his friend’s gaze because he dreaded Wayland would catch his pained grimace. The small but stain in the corner had slipped his mind. He’d planned to have it bleached and polished out of the floor by now, but the memory of its creation was still too treasured to let go.

  “Nay,” he answered. “Your daughter did, my lord. We encountered a brief rain shower through the Windward passage. But Golden—Lady Golden—was determined to reassemble the double deadeye she’d pulled apart, rain or shine.”

  Wayland snickered. “She did that, did she?”

  “She wanted to—”

  “Find out how it worked,” the other man finished along with him.

  Wayland laughed. Mast managed an awkward smile. God, he wished he’d listened closer to the man’s court gossip the first time he’d been in Abaco, on that fatal wind-filled night that had changed his life. Suddenly, Parliamentary power plays and plunging bodice trends sounded incredibly engrossing. And wonderfully safe.

  He willed himself to pull out the chair at his desk, position it in front of Wayland, and firmly sit. He handed a snifter to his friend then cradled his own drink between his hands as they hung from his knees. He gazed into the dark amber liquid, trying to envision the more fortifying depths of another golden-colored intoxicant to push words past his lips.

  “I’m going to be painfully honest with you about what happened on this voyage, Wayland.”

  The wheels of this debacle are in motion now.

  “I appreciate your forthrightness, lad.”

  “You may not after I’m done.” He took a deep breath. “But I’ve decided this is the best thing in the long run, cards fall where they may.”

  “Then deal them with a direct eye, Mast. I didn’t pull a mollycoddle off that dock fifteen years ago.”

  He straightened. “You’re correct, sir. You didn’t.” He crossed a boot across the opposite knee and leveled his gaze.

  Now what to say? Wayland’s complete attention flooded him.

  He tossed back a quaff of the liquor, and finally began, “Your daughter is a very unpredictable person, my lord.”

  Wayland snorted. A smirk parted his beard. “That she is, Captain. That she is.”

  “Because of that…spontaneity, she managed to tangle herself into a few predicaments along the way. I—”

  The temptation to look back down pulled on him like a runaway anchor chain.

  “I had to keep a bloody close watch on her, Wayland.”

  “She told me you saved her life.”

  The comment was not the disgruntled comeback of fatherly protection for which he’d prepared. Mast re-crossed his legs, unsure about how to answer this surprise of gratitude instead of resentment.

  “We had to stop for repairs in New Providence for a day,” he continued. “We crossed paths with Roche Braziliano.”

  “Braziliano! If that sadistic son of a bitch—”

  “He didn’t touch her. Fortunately, he’s also a smart son of a bitch. He realized he wouldn’t be alive if he had.”

  “Christ. I’m bloody glad you were there, Mast. I knew I couldn’t depend on anyone else for this task. Would increasing the commission by a thousand pounds make up for—”

  “Fuck!” Mast’s body put the vehemence in his voice into action. “Sorry,” he growled. He slammed his drink down and began to pace. “I’m sorry, but—hell, Wayland! I can’t—I won’t—even accept your original offer.”

  “What are you talking about? You can and you will.”

  “No.” He pounded the wall. “I won’t.” He squared his stare back at his friend again. “Wayland, after we cleared New Providence, I had to tell Golden about the deal. I told her everything.” He leaned back against the bulkhead “So you see, I broke our agreement right in two. I owe you the money now.”

  For a long pause, his only answer was Wayland’s heavy sigh. It was extra nerve-racking against the quiet of his near-empty ship.

  “You’ve never jeopardized your honor like that before, Stafford.”

  “Nay, I haven’t.”

  “Must have had one hell of a strong reason.”

  “Reason had nothing to do with it. I had no choice, that was all.”

  “Golden held a knife to your throat?”

  “Nay.”

  “What, then?”

  The moment had arrived. Mast burrowed deep within himself and tried to come up with the same courage that had confronted everything from cutthroats to crocodiles over the last ten years. But all he felt was the wish to be confronting a pirate on the dueling log again, instead of staring across his cabin at the man who had given him so much and now eyed him so earnestly.

  “I had no choice because—” He cleared his throat. “Because your daughter and I had become…intimate, my lord.”

  Once more, the man made him squirm through an agonizing pause.

  “I see,” Wayland finally said.

  “I didn’t seduce her,” he rushed on. “But it happened, and I’m not sorry about it.”

  “I see,” Wayland said again. “But I still don’t understand how that warranted your break of silence, Captain. Certainly one night’s indiscretion with—”

  He cut the man off by whirling hard at Wayland. “How dare you,” he snarled, uncaring if it were the damn king himself standing
her. “Damn you, she was not some half-thought indiscretion!”

  “Then what was she?” Wayland’s reply sounded as if Mast was simply differentiating between a barkentine and a brig.

  “She—”

  He stopped, scrambling through the bedlam in his head for a single thought that made sense. He blurted the only one that did. “She was the woman I’d fallen in love with.”

  A gull keened near the ship’s rigging. Water lapped softly around them, marking the long seconds of the next minute.

  “Christ, Wayland,” he finally muttered. “I’m in love with your daughter. I’m damnably, helplessly in love with her.”

  “I see. And have you made Golden aware of this yet?”

  “I…have.”

  “And what did she say?”

  The man’s tranquility was more unnerving than his gratitude. Mast’s mind hastened to fall back into rank, searching for the order of coherent, correct, words. “She said she loved me, too, sir.”

  “Well, praise the saints in heaven.”

  “Now I know this comes as a shock to you, but if you’d let me expl—sir?”

  “And would you stop calling me that?” Wayland snapped. “What’s say you try “father” for a change?”

  “F-Father?”

  “Sweet Virgin give me strength.” The older man rolled his eyes, pinning the sharp green stare back to Mast when he was done. “Captain Stafford, did you break out your best brandy to stammer at me, or to do the honorable thing by me and my daughter with the offer of your hand?”

  Mast opened his mouth then shut it. Restraightened his shoulders; surrendered them to the overwhelming sag of amazement. He paced to the small round stain in the corner then back.

  Finally, he stopped and braced his feet before the man who bemusedly watched him. “Sir—Wayland—you would greatly honor me—I mean, I would be most joyous—what I want to say is—”

  As Wayland chortled, he sank back into his chair. “Fuck it all,” he muttered. “Fine. Wayland, I’d be the happiest man on earth if I could make Golden my wife.”

  “And lad, I’d be the happiest father on earth if you did just that. Now wipe that goddamn grin off your face and help me share a toast to the blushing bridegroom.”

  Mast obliged, though he felt as if he’d already emptied his glass.

  “You mean it, don’t you?” he asked after they’d clinked snifters. “You’re really happy about this?”

  Wayland’s jaw tightened. “I’m stunned you had to ask me that.” The older man took a full swallow of his brandy then, but his eyes remained as sharp as twin cutlasses when he raised them back up. “When I said I trusted only you with this commission, I meant it. By now, I think you’ve come to determine why.”

  “Because the most important part of the mission was Golden.”

  His friend nodded. “As I told you before, lad, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The jewel in my crown. Not the bloody earldom of Pemshire, not that frigid castle in the godforsaken outback of England. Golden’s uncle is perfectly happy taking care of all that. My life is here in the Indies, and I’m bloody proud of it.

  “But Golden…I take delight in her in ways I could never fathom. I’m proud of the woman I’ve helped her become, in my small way.” He rested his hand on Mast’s shoulder. “And I’m proud of you, lad, and the man I’ve seen you become. So did I mean I was overjoyed at the love you two have found?” He smiled. “I couldn’t mean anything more, my son.”

  Mast took a deep breath. “I’m very glad to hear that, my friend.”

  Wayland withdrew his hand. “Then why have I heard more enthusiastic eulogies, Captain?”

  “Because”—he rose and began to pace again—“I’m going to ask more of you now, Wayland. Your understanding, and your help.”

  “My understanding? Of what?”

  “It’s a long story, best told in my side hold.” He lifted the brandy bottle. “You’ll need more of this. After you’ve heard everything, I’ll ask for your help again. And then you can decide if you want to give it.”

  Wayland shook his head. “You won’t have to ask. You know you already have it—even if it sounds like you’re trying to move a mountain.”

  “I may just be. But it’s the mountain that’s standing between me and the woman I love.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Let’s get to that hold.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You want to get dis over with, or not?”

  Maya’s face was as stern as her words, defying the lively pattern in the frame of the dressing mirror behind her. Though Golden braced her hands to the stays and ribbons at her hips and answered her sister with a resistant glare, she turned and obliged Maya with a deep breath in.

  The Indian cinched the final knot on the corset. Golden’s eyes popped as she fought the urge to tear the horrible thing off and throw it to the dogs in the garden below. But it was the latest style out of Paris, as Papa proudly stated when he’d presented it to her with the stunning gold gown now hanging against the wall. Golden hadn’t had the heart to do anything but kiss his tender face and add an affectionate thanks.

  No matter how merciless this brocade and lace will be on my skin tonight.

  “Now your hair,” the native accent directed.

  “No!” Golden snapped up the hairbrush from the dressing table and brandished it like a sword. “No more fussing, no more primping. I want to get dressed. Now.”

  “Golldennn. You not going out with your hair like that!”

  “The hell I won’t.”

  “Language!”

  She glared. “Good Lord. Are you reporting back to Mast, or something?”

  Her sister planted hands on her hips. A dazzling ruby engagement ring winked on her left hand. “I will if you do not sit down and let me brush—”

  “If you come near me with a single hairpin, I’ll stab your eye out with it.”

  Maya sighed and threw her hands up.

  Golden whirled and plunked onto the bed, satisfied with at least one small victory. “I don’t see the point of all this,” she grumbled. “I don’t need a silly ball. And I certainly don’t want to dress and paint myself like some—”

  She stopped, slapped mentally by images of Roche Braziliano, El Culebra, and their greasy, sadistic stares. “I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

  “You’re nothin’ to get fussed about?” Maya angrily jerked the copper-colored petticoat over her head. Golden stood again and helped her pull the shimmering fabric over her huge hoop and underpetticoats.

  “Not to the tune of an entire ball, for mercy’s sake,” she countered through the layers of the gold brocade top gown that Maya now threw over her head. “I feel like a fish out of water with these people. I can’t laugh at things I don’t find funny. I can’t smile at people I don’t even know.” As her head reached air again, she grimaced. “And I certainly can’t dance!”

  “Bosh. You dance fine. You always the best at the celebration of Quisqueya every year.”

  Golden laughed despite herself. “I don’t think Papa’s friends want to see my ceremonial bonfire dance to the earth goddess, sister.”

  She sighed again and moved to the window. Beyond Abaco Bay, feathered clouds floated against the bronze and crimson tones of the sunset. The sight, along with her and Maya’s talk of all those past celebrations around the tribal fires, intensified that subtle tug-of-war inside her: the mannered and civilized Golden straining and striving against the primal rainforest Golden.

  It wasn’t as if she was unaccustomed to the battle by now. The warring Goldens had flailed at each other for so long, at times she was simply numb to the violent confusion, the sense of misplacement, the painful conclusion she’d never really belong in one world or the other.

  Until she’d met Mast.

  Until she’d loved him—and in his arms, the two sides had finally harmonized with each other. Accepted each other. Belonged with each other.

  But he
hadn’t held her like that since the last night aboard the Athena—three days ago! The delay was intolerable now. The two sides of Golden were restless—and aching.

  She’d barely been able to stand it at yesterday’s supper, and that was almost twenty-four hours ago. Just remembering the scene sent a languish of heat through her body. Her heart had swelled with love and pride as she’d gazed at him across the table: his commanding profile as he conversed with Papa’s invited dignitaries, his charming smile as he played the perfect gentleman to their ladies. And when he did look her way, his gaze would cloud for a moment with a sultry smoke only she understood.

  Why had she agreed to his silly decree about controlling their public affection?

  When she’d finally been able to escape from the post-supper twitterings of the dignitaries’ wives, the servants told her Mast had disappeared with Papa into the night. Perplexed, she’d waited hours for them both, but she fell asleep on the veranda settee. All she could remember in the morning was a softly whispered, “I love you, hellion,” before steel-banded arms carried her to bed and cool lips sent her back into slumber.

  Today, she’d been cruelly subjected to a day of lawn croquet and high tea. The inane gossip and even more inane questions had rankled until she pleaded a headache—a real one—and fled to the sanctuary of the Athena. But once there, Robert and Rico greeted her with shrugs and curious looks. They hadn’t seen Mast since dawn.

  The ache grew unbearable.

  Golden fidgeted as Maya twisted the buttons along her back. “Hurry, sister, please!”

  “By the sweet stars,” Maya snapped. “First she runs for the hills, now she screaming at me to hurry. I should just go now and leave you half done—”

  “Maya!”

  “‘I don’t want a ball, Maya!’” the Carib mimicked.

  She obliged her sister with a long giggle. It was easier this time. Knowing she’d at least be in the same room as Mast popped champagne bubbles of anticipation up her spine. “And I still don’t!”

  “But now you thinking ’bout who going to be there.”