Stephanie Laurens - Lord Of The Privateers

She was intimately acquainted with how his mind worked. He always had a goal in mind. With respect to her, to them, she didn’t yet know what his desired goal was—he hadn’t yet shared that detail with her. Perhaps he didn’t yet know himself; the Lord knew she was still at sea as to what the possibilities were, what options they might have.

From her point of view, what lay between them was a sea of uncertainty. Yet as he’d suggested, there might, even after eight years apart, be something between them worth fighting for.

A proper marriage and a shared future?

That had been the goal that, once, had glowed ahead of them, almost within their reach.

But they’d stumbled at the last, courtesy of Fate.

Now they’d come around again...but were they on the right tack to secure the same goal, or had they lost their way entirely and were sailing on some other sea?

Her thoughts merged into dreams before she caught even a glimpse of an answer.

* * *

Isobel stood at the starboard rail and watched Ramsgate draw nearer. The headland to the north of the town slid smoothly past; flocks of seagulls rising into the air and settling again marked the harbor just beyond.

The day had dawned fine, the sky clearer now they were farther south. The seas were running reasonably smoothly—no impediment to them being rowed into the harbor and to the main wharf.

Earlier, over breakfast, she’d sat back and let Royd break the news to Duncan that they would be leaving the ship to go to London while he remained aboard and traveled on to Southampton.

If she’d thought more about it—if she’d put herself in Duncan’s shoes—she might have realized that his reaction would be one of relief; at his age, London held little allure, while the prospect of spending more time aboard The Corsair—under Liam Stewart’s wing and with unlimited access to the rest of the crew—was Duncan’s idea of heaven.

Royd—in typical Royd fashion—had immediately capitalized on Duncan’s rapture to address the next stage of the adventure. Royd had made his expectations clear; once he and she rejoined The Corsair in Southampton, Duncan could decide whether he wanted to return to Aberdeen in the company of one of Royd’s men or sail on with them to their destination. However, if he chose the latter, once they reached Freetown, Duncan would have to remain on board—without complaint—throughout the time they were in the tropics.

“Your choice,” Royd had concluded. “Think about it during the days you’re in Southampton. While there, you can accompany the crew onto the docks and into the town, as long as you first get Liam’s approval. While I’m absent, Liam’s word is law on The Corsair. But once we return, if you elect to sail on with us, I will need your word that you will remain on board until we reach Southampton again.”

Duncan was clever enough not to rush into making a decision. He’d nodded soberly. “All right.”

So matters with Duncan were as settled as they could be.

Which left her able to focus on her quest to find and rescue Katherine. And on the more immediate and distinctly fraught question of how to deal with Royd.

Of deciding what to do about him, her, and their future.

Courtesy of Duncan stowing away, Royd and she clearly now had a future, but what shape it might take...

Despite all she’d learned over the past days, rescripting beliefs held for years couldn’t, she’d discovered, be accomplished overnight. Even though she now understood the why of Royd’s behavior eight years ago, her emotions—her feelings—hadn’t yet seen the light.

Hadn’t yet let go of their entrenched resistance, much less lowered the shields she had, for nearly a decade, deployed. In time, that might come, but meanwhile, she still felt very much on guard around him—still instinctively kept her heart shielded.

She’d once been utterly open to him, and he’d hurt her. That was a truth, too, one her emotions hadn’t yet accepted could be excused and forgiven.

Rescripting emotions appeared akin to resetting a building’s foundations—difficult, and once done, other things needed to be changed to keep the building stable. Similar to altering a ship’s hull and having to change structures throughout the vessel to compensate. In short, such a change was not a simple one.

And Royd was rarely patient, not over anything he’d set his mind to achieving, but presumably, he, too, would be struggling with similar inner difficulties.

As Ramsgate harbor came into full view, and Liam swung the wheel and called for the wind to be spilled from the sails and for all canvas to be lowered, she turned to look back along the deck—and saw Royd pacing toward her. His eyes were fixed on her; although his features told her little, the intensity of his gaze suggested he’d already moved past any difficulties he might have had.

For an instant, she felt bathed in the force of his will, the invincibility of his intent. It took effort to drag her gaze from his—to look to where the crew were readying the tender to swing it over the side.

To remember how to breathe.

He halted beside her and looked at the tender. “I had them load your bandbox and the brown trunk. That was the right one, wasn’t it?”

Surreptitiously, she cleared her throat. “Yes.” Where did this fluster come from? She knew this man, had for years, yet... She glanced around. “Where’s Duncan?”

“By the winch.”

The sight of her son—their son—calmed her. He was standing beside Jolley, listening intently to the bosun’s crisp orders and avidly watching every move the sailors made.

His gaze on her face, Royd said, “I told him he couldn’t go in the tender—not this time—but that he’d have plenty of opportunity to ride in it and learn to row while in Southampton.”

As usual, their minds traveled on similar lines. “No telling who might be on the wharf to see him farewell us.”

“Indeed. But in Southampton, the wharves will be so crowded it’s unlikely anyone will pay much attention to one boy, even if he’s with my crew.”

“Even if they did, they’ll assume he’s a cabin boy.”

The tender had been swung over the side and steadily lowered; it landed in the sea with a small splash. Four sailors slid down the ropes to land in the bobbing vessel, followed by Williams, Royd’s quartermaster. In the gap where the ship’s side had been opened, Jolley—assisted by Duncan—sent a rope ladder unrolling toward the tender.

Together, Isobel and Royd walked to the gap. Isobel peered out and was relieved to see that the end of the ladder reached the tender’s side; she could drop the last yard easily enough.

She turned to Duncan—and he flung himself at her and hugged her.

“Goodbye, Mama!” He tipped his head back and looked into her face, and the delight that radiated from him slayed any whisper of worry that he was secretly bothered by them being parted, however temporarily. He grinned exuberantly. “I’ll see you in Southampton!”

Her heart twisted a little as she smiled back, then she hugged him close and bent to press a kiss to his forehead—the only sort of public bussing he would currently permit. “Be good.” She released him and stepped back.

Royd briefly met Isobel’s eyes, then hunkered down beside Duncan, bringing his head level with his son’s. He caught and held Duncan’s gaze. “Remember—on board ship, the captain’s word is law, and Mr. Stewart is captain while I’m ashore. If you break the law, then you won’t be able to remain aboard. If that happens, we”—with a brief glance, he included Isobel—“will be forced to send you back to Aberdeen with an escort.” He returned his gaze to Duncan’s now-sober dark eyes. “That’s what happens when someone breaks ship’s law. They don’t get to board that ship again.”