Gray! For the space of a heartbeat she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Though she couldn’t see his face, for it was hidden beneath the brim of a shabby hat, she knew that hard, muscled body. The long legs. The lean hips.
He turned and nodded, while Darcy stared at him in stunned silence. His face seemed strangely distorted. His eyelids were drooped, giving him a sleep-drenched, sensual appearance. It was impossible to tell the color of his eyes. But the shape of them seemed all wrong.
“Captain.” His voice was a strange rasp, as though the single word had caused him great effort.
When he turned away, Darcy’s heart was drumming painfully inside her chest. Her breathing was none too steady. But as she watched this stranger, she realized he couldn’t be Gray. He’d looked right at her.…And there had not been the slightest hint of recognition.
The Sea Sprite
Harlequin Historical #565
Praise for the recent works of USA Today bestselling author Ruth Langan
The Sea Witch
“Ms. Langan uses the magic of words to stir your senses!”
—Rendezvous
The Wildes of Wyoming—Ace
“…delicious character interplay and a puzzling mystery that combine to create a first-rate reading experience.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
Rory
“Great! Absolutely ROMANTIC! Rory soars with imagery, suspense, plot twists, and passionate, sexual tension. This is a must read!”
—Rendezvous
#563 THE THE WEDDING WAGER
Deborah Hale
#564 THE MARSHAL AND MRS. O’MALLEY
Julianne MacLean
#566 THE VIRTUOUS CYPRIAN
Nicola Cornick
RUTH LANGAN
THE SEA SPRITE
Available from Harlequin Historicals and RUTH LANGAN
Mistress of the Seas #10
†Texas Heart #31
*Highland Barbarian #41
*Highland Heather #65
*Highland Fire #91
*Highland Heart #111
†Texas Healer #131
Christmas Miracle #147
†Texas Hero #180
Deception #196
*The Highlander #228
Angel #245
*Highland Heaven #269
**Diamond #305
Dulcie’s Gift #324
**Pearl #329
**Jade #352
**Ruby #384
Malachite #407
The Courtship of Izzy McCree #425
Blackthorne #435
§Rory #457
§Conor #468
§Briana #480
One Christmas Night #487
“Highland Christmas”
‡The Sea Witch #523
‡The Sea Nymph #545
‡The Sea Sprite #565
Harlequin Books
Outlaw Brides
“Maverick Hearts”
Harlequin Historicals Christmas Stories 1990
“Christmas at Bitter Creek”
For my family, so wonderfully diverse, who make me so proud. And of course for Tom, founder and chairman of the board.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Prologue
Cornwall, 1655
“There’s a storm moving in, children.” Miss Winifred Mellon, nursemaid to the four motherless Lambert children, strode briskly along the rocky shore, cupping her hands and shouting into the wind. The beach near their home, MaryCastle, was strewn with boulders. Some were as big as a small shed, offering the perfect perch for a child to climb and watch the clouds rolling in across the Atlantic.
Young James, at ten and two the oldest of the Lambert children, looked up, then began trailing his best friend, Gray Barton, who was almost ten and three. Gray’s father was a sea captain who had already allowed his son to sail with him. In the eyes of the Lambert children, that made Gray someone to be admired, since it was the goal that all of them secretly shared. Now Gray, his cap of black hair ruffling in the wind, scrambled across a series of slippery, egg-shaped rocks, as surefooted as the tumbler they’d once seen in a London park. James did his best to keep up.
“Where are your sisters?” Miss Mellon demanded.
James shrugged. “Last I saw, Ambrosia was pestering Newt to teach her how to spit.”
Miss Mellon wrinkled her prim-and-proper nose, while the two boys laughed. Newton Findlay had been a sailor aboard the family ship, the Undaunted, until he’d lost a leg to a shark. Now he worked for the Lambert family, and tolerated with good nature the million questions four small children asked on a daily basis.
Despite Winifred Mellon’s determined efforts, the three Lambert girls refused to behave like females. They disdained music, handwork, art, in favor of fighting with wooden swords, climbing the mast of their father’s ship and swimming in the ocean. Swimming with all manner of vermin for companions. The very thought made the poor woman weak.
“And the other two? Bethany and Darcy?”
James pointed. “Bethany is up on the hill, hoping for a good view of the storm.”
The nursemaid turned in time to see the little redhead standing with her arms lifted to the heavens. “What is she doing, James?”
“Waiting to see if lightning will strike.”
While the two boys grinned at one another, the nursemaid let out a shriek and lifted her skirts to race as fast as her legs could take her. Minutes later, breathless and bedraggled, she descended the hill, dragging six-year-old Bethany behind her.
When she finally managed to find her voice she thought to ask, “Where’s Darcy?”
“Out there.” Bethany pointed to dark, churning waves crashing against the shore.
“What do you mean, out there? In the ocean?”
“Aye.”
The nursemaid’s heart nearly stopped. “Who’s with her?”
“Nobody, Winnie.”
The poor woman’s eyes widened. “Your little sister is alone? In the ocean? With a storm rolling in?”
When the girl nodded, the nursemaid turned as pale as her petticoats and began racing toward the house. “Sweet heaven,” she shouted. “Newt! Newton Findlay! You must come at once! Our sweet little Darcy is out in that storm!”
Hearing her cries the old sailor stepped from the shed, where he’d been mending some sails. “Now what’s this about our Darcy?”
The nursemaid could hardly get the words out over the panic that was threatening to choke her. “Our baby’s taken the skiff, Newton. Look!” She pointed, and the two of them stared at the boiling sea. Barely visible was a tiny boat being tossed about like a piece of bark.
The old sailor took off at a crazy gait, running as fast as his wooden peg would allow. But long before he reached the edge of the water, Gray Barton had already whipped off his shirt and plunged into the frigid Atlantic.
“Oh, sweet heaven.” Miss Mellon stood in the foaming surf, her skirts drenched, her high kid boots quickly filling. She was gripping the old sailor’s arm so hard she nearly drew blood.
They watched helplessly as wave after wave rolled over the figure of the lad. Each time he disappeared, they thought surely
he’d drowned. But then, just as their hearts stopped, they would catch sight of him again, gamely struggling against waves that were now as high as a ship’s rail.
“Oh, Newton.” Miss Mellon’s tears spilled down her cheeks, blinding her.
“This is all my fault. I’ve allowed our baby to drown. And now that brave young boy, as well.”
“Here, now.” The old sailor patted her hand while he continued to watch the feeble progress of the boy. “It’s nobody’s fault. The lass just purely loves the sea. And she’s too young to know the danger.”
“Aye. Absolutely fearless.” The poor woman’s lips quivered, and she began weeping harder. “As is that lad. How will I ever tell Captain Lambert? First his wife. And now his baby. And she was entrusted to my care.”
“Hush, now,” Newton cautioned. “There’s a chance the lad will reach her in time.” But the old man’s voice lacked conviction. He knew of few men, even seasoned sailors, who could fight such waves. And if the lad did manage to reach the skiff, how could he bring it safely back to shore in such rough seas?
The sky grew darker, and the children huddled around their nursemaid, unusually silent as they realized the seriousness of the situation.
“Is Darcy going to die, Winnie?” Ambrosia demanded.
For the first time in her life, Miss Mellon couldn’t find the words to deny the question.
“Is she, Newt?” James tugged on the old man’s sleeve.
Unable to speak, Newton drew his arm around the boy and continued staring into the distance, even though it had grown so dark, they could no longer see the skiff or the boy in the water.
Overcome with emotion, Miss Mellon dropped to her knees in the water and held Ambrosia and Bethany against her chest while she sobbed her heart out.
Suddenly James pointed. “Look, Newt!”
The old sailor took a moment, then said, “Well, I’ll be.”
“What?” Their nursemaid got to her feet and tried to see. But all she could make out was the black boiling ocean.
“There.” As lightning streaked across the sky and seemed to dance on the waves, they could see the outline of the little boat.
With each flash of lightning the boat seemed to be moving closer.
“Praise be,” Newton muttered as he started into the foaming surf.
Minutes later he was hauling the little skiff onto the beach. Gray climbed out, carrying little Darcy in his arms.
When Miss Mellon tried to take the child from him, Darcy locked her chubby arms around his neck and buried her face in his throat.
“Nay. I want to stay with Gray. Wasn’t he brave? He swam all that way just to ride back with me. And what an exciting, bumpy ride it was. I started to worry, but Gray said he’d never let anything bad happen to me. Not ever.”
Instead of ordering her down, so he could catch his breath, the boy merely beamed. “It’s all right, Miss Mellon. Newt. She’s not heavy. She’s just a wee bit of a thing. Hardly weighs anything at all.” He stared down into her eyes and found her looking up at him adoringly. “No need to fret now. Darcy wasn’t even afraid. Just paddling furiously and a little annoyed that she couldn’t get back to shore.”
He looked up at the others. “Isn’t she something?”
“Aye, lad. Something. And so are ye. It’s a brave thing ye did.”
“I gave her father my solemn promise that I’d always look out for her when he was at sea.”
“Did ye now?”
“Aye, sir. And I’d never break a promise.”
“So I see.” Newton draped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and herded him toward their house in the distance.
And though Gray must have been beyond exhaustion, he carried his little burden all the way, finally depositing her on a rug in front of the fire. Then he lay down beside her, draped in a warm, dry blanket.
When the housekeeper came bustling in minutes later with mugs of warm milk, the boy was sound asleep. Curled up beside him was little Darcy, her hand tucked in his.
As the adults gathered around, speculating on the enormity of the boy’s heroics, they realized something else, as well. Despite the nearly eight years that separated Gray from Darcy, these two enjoyed a special bond. Both shared a love for and a fascination with the sea. Both were absolutely fearless. And their faith in each other was unshakable.
Newt watched the two asleep. Even their chests rose and fell in silent rhythm. “A more perfect match I’ve never known.” He shook his head before going off to his bed, while muttering, “I hope I’m around to see them grown.”
Some people, he realized, were simply born for one another.
Chapter One
“It’s hard to imagine that both Ambrosia and Bethany are married now, isn’t it, Grandpapa?” Darcy Lambert, youngest of the three Lambert sisters, stood beside her grandfather on the widow’s walk, the wide porch that ran the length of the upper floor of their home, MaryCastle. While she talked, Darcy kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, hoping for a glimpse of the tall masts of the Carrington, the ship on which Gray Barton served as first mate.
“I’ve no doubt you’ll soon follow them into that sea of matrimony, lass.” Geoffrey Lambert touched a hand to her cheek and she closed a hand over his.
“Aye. Gray said this will be his last time at sea under the command of another. Next time, he’ll be captain of his own ship. Think of it, Grandpapa. A ship’s captain. It’s what he’s wanted for so long. And he promised that when next he sets sail, I’ll be going with him, as his wife and first mate.”
The old man sighed. “It’s hard for me to think that I’ll lose all three of my lasses in the space of a single year.”
“You’ll not be losing us, Grandpapa.” She pointed to the workmen swarming around the skeleton of a house rising beside theirs. “Ambrosia and Riordan will be living right next door. Bethany and Kane are just a carriage ride away at Penhollow Abbey. As for Gray, I think he’ll agree to live here at MaryCastle when we aren’t aboard ship. Oh, Grandpapa.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his. “Just think of all the lovely babies we can give you.”
“Aye.” He chuckled. “Another generation to pester old Newt, and drive poor old Winnie to distraction.”
Darcy joined in the laughter. “It will invigorate them, Grandpapa. Invigorate all of us.”
“Indeed it will.” As the wind picked up the old man shivered. “Winter will be upon us before we know it. Come on, lass. Let’s get in out of the cold.”
“You go, Grandpapa.” Darcy drew her shawl firmly around her shoulders. “I’ll just stay here a while longer. I have a feeling Gray’s ship will be coming home today. I want to be the first one down to the shore to greet him.”
“Aye, lass.” He touched a hand to her shoulder, before turning away. “But don’t stay out here too long. You wouldn’t want Gray to find you frozen to this porch.”
“Don’t worry.” She gripped the rail and turned to the sea. “He’ll find my heart as warm as when he left. And a fire burning in my soul for only him.”
“Our dinner will soon be cold.” Mistress Coffey, housekeeper for the Lambert family, glanced around with annoyance. “Where is Darcy?”
Ambrosia, recently returned from next door, where she and her new husband, Riordan Spencer, were building their home, continued lighting the tapers in the center of the table. “I haven’t seen her all afternoon.”
“If I had to hazard a guess,” her grandfather said, “I’d say she’s probably still up on the widow’s walk, watching for Gray’s ship.”
“Then perhaps you ought to speak to her, Geoffrey.” Their old nursemaid, Winifred Mellon, clucked her tongue as she slipped into her usual place at the table. “This is the fifth time in as many days that she’s missed her dinner.”
“You can’t blame her for getting nervous, Winnie.” Ambrosia kissed her husband’s cheek, then linked her arm with his when he entered the dining room. “Gray’s ship should have been here more than a month a
go.”
Riordan brushed a kiss over his wife’s lips. “And you, more than anyone my darling, should be aware that ships never reach their destination on time. There are so many things that can create havoc with schedules, not the least of which is the weather.” He glanced around as the others took their seats. “I’ve been hearing from sailors about some terrible storms off the coast of Wales. Wasn’t that where Gray’s ship was headed?”
“Aye.” Geoffrey Lambert suddenly turned away from the table.
“Where are you headed?” the housekeeper demanded.
“I’ll go fetch the lass. I don’t blame her for keeping her vigil. But she needs to keep up her strength.”
The others waited, then gave a sigh of relief when the old man returned with Darcy beside him. Her blond hair was wind-tossed, her cheeks as bright as apples from the chill breeze blowing in off the Atlantic. And though her eyes bore the smudges of sleepless nights, she managed a wide smile at her family.
“Grandpapa persuaded me to come inside and try your fine roast goose, Mistress Coffey.”
“You won’t be sorry.” The housekeeper passed around a platter. “I made your favorite sweet honey glaze and sour cream biscuits.”
The old woman began circling the table, filling teacups. They heard the front door open, and the sound of Newton stomping mud from his boots. He seemed to take a particularly long time before walking to the dining room.
“About time.” Mistress Coffey shot him a dark look. “Another minute and I’d have had Libby remove your plate from the table.” She sniffed as she passed him. “Do I smell spirits?” Sparks nearly flew from her eyes. “Newton Findlay, have you been in the village, drinking at the tavern?”
“Aye.” The old sailor paused in the doorway, but made no move to sit at the table. And instead of his usual lively argument with the old woman, which the entire family had come to expect and even enjoy, he was unusually silent.
When he continued to stand, the others paused to look up at him.
“What is it, Newt?” Ambrosia arched a brow. “You look like you’ve just lost your best friend.”
“Not I, lass.” He cleared his throat and stared down at the toe of his boot.