Heart's Ransom

  * * *

  Kitty did not get to tell Rafe good-bye. Her father had let him go―an act of mercy that had astonished Kitty. As part of the arrangement the two men had struck, in exchange for letting him and his crew go free, Rafe was never to let his ships pass north of the Bay of Biscay’s edge again, or past the Straits of Gibraltar. Rafe’s pirating days, as short-lived as they were, had come to an end.

  She did not know what would become of Rafe now. He had likely counted on Ransom’s arrest, as Kitty had. He had been so seized with despair at the crippling of his hand, the abrupt and unexpected end to his livelihood as a physician, that he had neither sought nor cared for any other recourse. She could not imagine his despondency at being set free; that he might look beyond his injuries to still find some potential in himself, and in life, had not occurred to him.

  Kitty had been whisked aboard the Precipice during Rafe’s tense negotiations with John, and it was not until later―when the ship weighed anchor, reset her sails and was underway once again―that she learned of the rest of their agreement; that Rafe would never see Kitty again. He would not as much as send her a letter.

  “It is for the best, Kitten,” John told her as evening settled upon them. She sat before the stern windows in his quarters, feeling strangled with the urge to weep, her heart leaden with dismay.

  Rafe agreed to this, she thought. He let me go. Of course, she could not blame him, no matter her own selfish heartache. No matter his own personal despair, he had also been acting in what he felt was the best interest of his crew. He had put their lives before his own, both in his words and actions. He had proven himself a true ship’s captain.

  They had left him alone aboard the abandoned El Verdad. Because La Venganza had remained in view along the horizon all the while―as Claudio had apparently proven unwilling to desert Rafe completely―John had ordered his men to restore the Spanish flags that had been lowered in surrender.

  “His crew will see them, and watch us leave,” John had told Kitty. “They will know what it means―that we have released him―and they will come for him.”

  Kitty could not blame Rafe for his despair over his hand, and worried now as to what would become of him. How many times had she herself held out futile hope that her sight might restore, only to resign herself to the inevitability of her handicap in the end? She had enjoyed nearly her lifetime in full to grow accustomed to her blindness, to find her place in the world in spite of it, and with the courage for which Rafe had commended her. He had suffered only a matter of hours with such realization. It was only reasonable that he had been despondent. She had spoken too harshly to him aboard El Verdad, judged him too severely.

  And now I will never have the chance to apologize to him, she thought, her throat tightened and strained, her eyes stinging with tears. Now I cannot comfort him, or show him that his life is not ruined. Claudio told me I was the only one left to protect him―and I failed.

  “I know you have been through a lot, and you believe you should be grateful to Serrano Beltran for it,” John said gently. “But you are safe now, and homeward bound, and with the new morrow, I think you will feel better.”

  She had not told him all of her misadventures with Rafe, including having been manacled to his side for a time. Because Rafe had walked away from his encounter with John unscathed, she assumed he had not told him, either. She realized that for once, she understood why John was often so reluctant to tell her about his sea voyages, no matter how persistently she might press him for details. He would tell her about good things, pleasant moments, but no others, not even after he had been shot. It was a habit that had once annoyed her, but she found herself softened by his reasons now. Some things were best left unsaid, if only to save loved ones from undue concern.

  She heard the rustle of John’s clothes as he knelt before her, and struggled to smile for him as he pressed his hand against her face. “When we are home once more at Rosneath, I will have a proper party for you,” he said. “I will hire musicians from London, buy you the most exquisite gowns money can afford―whatever you wish. We can invite the entire island, if you like.”

  Her smile was forced for his benefit. “I imagine Michael Urry would be delighted to attend,” he said. “I could use the occasion to discuss your proper courtship with him. Perhaps we might use it to announce an engagement.”

  The thought of Michael Urry’s mouth and hands touching those places once kissed and caressed by Rafe left her stomach in an aching, forlorn knot. “Yes,” she said, her voice strained. “Yes, perhaps.”

  John had ordered a bath drawn for her, and had presented her with a lace-trimmed dress, complete with crinolines and underpinnings, everything a proper lady needed. She had bathed with lavender-scented soaps, brushed her hair and bundled it against the nape of her neck with tortoise-shell combs. She was a proper English girl again from head to toe, all pristine and pure, at least as far as her father was concerned.

  “Are you hungry?” John asked. “I have told my officers I will not be joining them this evening, that you and I would partake our dinner here in―”

  “Oh, no, Daddy, I am fine,” Kitty said. “You go ahead and go. I…I do not have much of an appetite, and I think I will retire early to bed.”

  It is for the best this way, she thought. Rafe is a wealthy man now. He has his inheritance from his father, the estate in Mallorca, both of the ships. He might have been a physician, but there is pirate in him still the same―he proved that today, beyond any measure or doubt.

  She tried not to think about Rafe turning to drink to comfort himself in her absence, that he would find no more purpose in life now than what could be measured from a decanter. These thoughts and fears crept repeatedly to mind, and each time, she would shake her head and force them away. Rafe would be alright, she tried to tell herself. He will be alright without me.

  John was quiet for a long moment, and she could feel the weight of his gentle gaze as he studied her. At last, he sighed, brushing the cuff of his fingers against her cheek. “Alright, Kitten,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “Do you need me to put out a dressing gown…?”

  “No, I will be fine,” she replied. Because he was worried for her, and she realized it plainly, she smiled again, more genuine this time. “I am blind, not incapable,” she said, managing a hint of her customary pluck to put him more at ease.

  John chuckled as he leaned down to kiss her. “I know, Kitty,” he said. “I love you.”

  Kitty looked up, closing her eyes as his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth. “I love you, too, Daddy.”