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  Caitlin watched in silence as the big man climbed up the ladder to be saluted smartly by the men waiting on the deck. Christian was hauled up behind him, and Caitlin gritted her teeth as her brother was jerked away between two guards while others came for her.

  Why, why, she wondered as she was pulled to her feet and pushed toward the ladder. The Glory was one of Queen Anne's ships, and it was obvious by the deference of the crew that the black-clad man was their captain. They couldn't be after the rewards, not with England at war with Spain and France! Why would they perpetrate such an elaborate and dangerous ambush just to capture them?

  Nearly two days later, Caitlin was still asking herself the same questions as she paced about the small cabin into which she'd been shoved, wet and cursing, after they'd dragged her out of the pinnace. It was hot and dim with only one candle sending out a flickering glow from a small lantern on the wall. She paced the three steps that took her across the room, a journey she'd accomplished at least a thousand times during her captivity.

  She sank into the narrow bunk and dropped her face into her palms. If they kept her confined much longer, she'd go mad! She had seen no one but the boy who had brought her food and fresh water the night before, and only for the instant it took him to set down the tray and disappear again.

  A moment later she was up and prowling again. She felt so helpless. She'd hoped that Roger would have come after them on the Anna, but he had not. And it was probably good that he hadn't. Even the swift sloop would have little chance against the well-armed warship. She stopped abruptly as the rolling motion of the ship ceased. She listened intently, recognizing at once the sound of a ship being set to anchor.

  They had apparently reached their destination. But where were they? Was the captain of the Glory in league with the Spanish? It must be so; there was no other reason to capture her. Even the thought of the effortless way in which he'd trapped them brought on a renewed surge of rage. And now he would be the one to turn her over to the bloody Spaniards!

  Caitlin's small chin came up, her mouth hardening. The black-hearted devil would never have the satisfaction of seeing her fear. She would face the axman as bravely as her father had. Despite her inner resolve, a violent shudder shook her, and Caitlin tried to force away the vivid image of her father's execution—the burly, hairy-chested executioner, watching her from the holes in his black hood, his eyes flat and hard and cold like black onyx, the terrible whistle of the ax falling on her father's head—and her stomach lurched as a taste of sour bile rose in the back of her throat.

  Beads of perspiration broke out over her brow, and Caitlin covered her mouth with her palm. She hated it when she allowed the horror to resurface. For six years she'd lived with the terrifying nightmares that awakened her to her own shrill screams. Only Christian understood the terror that gripped her then. He had been fourteen that day, and Caitlin almost twelve, when Pedro de Enriquez had forced them to watch their father die, but they had not learned the lesson he'd intended them to master. They remembered not the swift justice of mighty Spain, but only the cruel death their beloved father had suffered at her hands.

  Caitlin whipped around as a key rattled in the lock, nerves as tight as water-soaked leather. She clasped her hands and held herself in rigid self-control as her captor entered and stood before her. He no longer wore the black garb, nor did he wear the blue uniform of an English captain with its gold braid and epaulettes. Instead, he was dressed simply in a white linen shirt and tan leather breeches atop knee-high black boots. He appeared enormous in the cramped cabin, tall and powerfully built, and Caitlin's eyes dropped to the short sword buckled at his waist before she lifted them to his face.

  On the galleon, his features had been hidden by dirt and blood, but now she could see that his face was lean and clean-shaven, handsome in a hard and arrogant way. His skin was burnished the deep teak common to seafaring men, and his hair was blue black, curling back in thick waves over his ears and touching his nape in back. Beneath straight black brows, his eyes watched her, pure and piercing, a clear-blue like sun glittering off ice.

  Trey Cameron stared openly at the girl standing before him. He remembered a small wild thing on the galleon who had turned on him with murder in her eyes and rapier in hand, but now those same eyes were huge and golden and more beautiful than any he had ever beheld. It had taken him a long time and a lot of trouble to capture the little girl-pirate in front of him, but her stunning beauty would make the task which lay ahead of him a good deal easier. She was so tiny. Could this young girl, standing so stiff and wary, her cheeks flushed high with color, her eyes burning into him as if she were afraid of him, really be the one who had attacked him so ferociously, slicing his hand with her sword?

  "What have you done to my brother, you filthy traitor?"

  No, he decided instantly, she wasn't afraid of him. Steely defiance had rung in her low, terse words.

  "Nothing," he answered, taking a step toward her. She countered with a step backward. Maybe she was a little afraid, he thought, stopping to smile in order to put her at ease.

  "Do you seek the gold on our heads?" she demanded.

  Trey stared into her eyes, realizing for the first time that there was a brown ring around the gold, making them all the more vivid against her smooth, honey-browned skin. Her suntan surprised him, since most Englishwomen of his acquaintance guarded their complexions more carefully than they did their virginity. Her extraordinary eyes searched his face, the fragile line of her jaw tight as she spoke again.

  "Our men will gladly pay a ransom for us—double the Spanish reward."

  "I seek no Spanish reward," Trey answered. "I am here at the command of Queen Anne of England."

  Caitlin tried to hide her shock. Was the Queen so angry with them that she would have them hunted down and imprisoned? Caitlin could not believe that.

  "Come along, girl; I won't hurt you. Your brother is waiting for you on deck."

  Trey reached out and took her elbow as he spoke, and Caitlin noted the white bandage on his injured hand, glad she had wounded him during their brief encounter. She immediately jerked her arm free, and sighing impatiently, he took hold of her again. Caitlin pulled against the strong brown fingers encircling her wrist, surprised when he did not jerk her after him but merely kept her at his side as they left the cabin.

  She walked slightly behind him, occasionally attempting to pull free. He let go of her as they reached the ladder to the quarterdeck, and Caitlin hurried up the steps in front of him, blinking against the glaring sunlight as she came outside the dark hatchway. She inhaled deeply in the salty sea air as she looked around. Rocky cliffs jutted above a narrow crescent of pink and white sand, and Caitlin stared in utter disbelief at the sprawling West Indian plantation house that sat atop them.

  Windsway! He'd brought them home to Windsway!

  Chapter Two

  Caitlin turned astonished eyes to the captain of the Glory, but he no longer looked at her. She followed his gaze down the main deck to where her brother stood near the main hatch with a tall blond-haired man. Caitlin recognized the other man as the one she had kneed in the groin during the ambush, but she felt no remorse. Anxious to see Christian, she started toward him, but lean brown fingers manacled her wrist and held her captive.

  "Let go of me," Caitlin said tightly, and Trey looked down at her, marveling at the way she had been turned to gold by the sun—eyes, hair and skin. His loins reacted in a way that appalled him, and shaken by the unexpected streak of desire, his next words were harsher than he'd intended.

  "If you behave yourself, you might get to say goodbye to your brother."

  He watched the brown-rimmed gold of her eyes darken with distress.

  "Goodbye? Where are you taking him?"

  "He is going nowhere, but you are leaving the ship as soon as the longboat is in the water."

  Caitlin looked at Christian, pulling again against Trey's hold. An instant later, Trey released her and watched as she ran toward her b
rother, his gaze narrowing speculatively as they embraced. The loving gesture proved the brother and sister had a very close relationship. Christian Alexander might very well be the key that Trey needed to attain Caitlin Alexander's cooperation in the days to come, if indeed the girl could be manipulated by anyone.

  Trey stared at them as they talked together in low tones. He found himself loath to use the boy against her, and that reluctance surprised him. He should be glad he had a lever to use against her. He had not wanted this mission from the outset; he'd done it to please the Queen and for no other reason. The Glory should be blockading the French coast with her sister ships, not chasing some willful girl around the Caribbean. He gave an inward sigh, well aware the girl would not like what lay in store for her now. He'd use her brother if he had to, because he had no other choice.

  "Did he hurt you?"

  Christian's whisper was barely audible, and Caitlin glanced at the captain on the quarterdeck as she answered.

  "No, I was imprisoned in a cabin below and saw no one but the lad who brought my meals."

  "I, too. It is very strange that he took no other prisoners."

  "It is in Roger's hands to rescue us. He will think of a way."

  Christian shook his head, running his hand through the thick black curls falling over his forehead.

  "I fear your hopes are in vain. The tall one there vowed to hang us both if they tried to rescue us. I heard him make the threat myself before I was taken into the pinnace."

  Caitlin's heart sank at his words. Christian was right. Roger would never take such a chance. Her eyes again sought the man who was their captor.

  "What can he want with us? And why would he bring us here to Windsway? I can see no purpose behind it."

  "I don't know, but I overheard one of my jailers say that they sailed for the English Crown."

  "He said as much to me, but I did not believe him."

  "Say no more, he comes now," Christian muttered quickly, his intent gaze dropping to Caitlin's face. "You must try to escape as I will, then somehow we'll make our way back to Los Gatos."

  Trey Cameron strode down the deck to stop beside his two young prisoners. Both turned hostile eyes on him, then Christian stepped protectively in front of his sister. His threat was low and controlled.

  "I will kill you if you even touch my sister."

  Tray gave him a mild look, thinking that James Alexander had indeed raised two hellions.

  "I don't intend to hurt her, nor you," he answered, taking Caitlin's arm and pulling her with him toward the gangport.

  Caitlin looked back at Christian as the tall captain stood back, inclining his head politely for her to precede him down the ladder to the longboat. Her eyes narrowed at his mocking courtesy, but she descended into the boat, taking a place in the stern. Six oarsmen sat in position in front of her, and as the longboat was pushed away from the frigate's hull, Caitlin silently assessed the distance to the beach. She could make the swim easily if she moved swiftly enough to evade the big man beside her. Her escape plan dwindled to dust when she detected a party of men waiting for them at intervals along the beach-front.

  Disappointed, she glanced at the blue-eyed man to find him watching her closely, and she quickly turned her eyes toward the cliffs above the beach. Windsway Plantation House had been built to catch the ever-present tradewinds with wide stone galleries surrounding the mansion on both its levels and heavy blue hurricane tiles to protect the roof from the many tropical storms that lashed Barbados. Two long breezeways cut the house in twain, one running the length of the interior, the other, the width. A multitude of tall French doors lined both the breeze-ways and the long galleries so that every room could enjoy the cooling ocean breezes. It had been five long years since Caitlin had risked a trip home, but she could detect little change in her home as the longboat neared the beach. Flowering vines gave vivid splashes of color to the thick white pillars supporting the porches, and well-tended gardens filled with a profusion of tropical flowers stretched to a seawall of white stone running the length of the cliffs.

  Long-ago memories teased her with half-forgotten sounds and smells and visions. Childhood laughter lilted once again from the winding garden paths as small feet crunched upon the cockleshells, running in their eagerness to meet a beloved father returning from the sea. Again the breath was snatched from a copper-haired little girl as she was swung atop broad shoulders while Christian begged his turn.

  Bittersweet sadness dug deep to touch her soul, and tears burned her eyelids before Caitlin banished them by force of will, looking steadily at the high promontory that jutted out into the sea at the far end of the sea gardens. A gigantic banyan tree stood rooted there like a regal sentinel. She and Christian had spent many hours there, hopefully scanning the horizon for the flash of sail that heralded the return of the Anna.

  Trey wasn't sure if it was happiness or grief he saw as he watched emotions flicker across Caitlin Alexander's beautiful face. How would she react when she learned the real reason she had come home?

  The keel of the longboat hit the sandy bottom, scraping to a stop in the shallows. Caitlin watched dispassionately as the blue-eyed captain stepped over the side, then pointedly ignored the hand he held out to assist her. She put both hands on the gunwale and swung out with one graceful leap, landing thigh-deep in the water before she sloshed out across the pristine white sand of the beach.

  Trey could not help but admire the girl's pride. He acknowledged her dignity by not insisting upon taking her arm, instead following her across the beach to a narrow path that twisted a serpentine ascent to the house above. The climb was steep and arduous, but Caitlin gave it no heed, only slowing her pace as she stopped near the top where a stone arbor covered with yellow frangipani crowned the path like a brilliant tiara of gold.

  The sweet fragrance of the delicate blossoms surrounded her as she stepped into the gardens of Windsway. She looked around, feeling herself drawn inexorably into a different time as she caught sight of a wizened Negress running down the shell path toward her. For one moment, she was three years old again, hiding in the bushes as the Spanish ships bombarded the house. She'd lain there frozen in terror until Pearl had run down the path with Christian and taken her to hide in the canefields. Now her nanny ran toward her again on the same path, and Caitlin opened her arms, hugging the frail old woman who had been her nurse, her friend, her dear sweet Pearl.

  "Baby, baby," Pearl murmured, but Caitlin's throat was thick with emotion, making words impossible.

  "I told you I'd bring her home, Pearl," her captor's deep voice said from behind them. "But I have need to speak to Caitlin for a few moments now. Have her room and a bath prepared, if you will, and I will send her to you shortly."

  Caitlin's delicate brows drew together in a puzzled frown at the man's familiarity with Pearl, but she had little time to ponder the mystery as her arm was taken once again and she was led toward the side gallery. He obviously knew the servants, as well as his way around her house, and somehow Caitlin knew that did not bode well for her.

  She remained silent as they proceeded down the ground-floor breezeway to her father's library. She stopped inside the doorway, but he strode with long, purposeful footsteps across the room to the liquor cabinet. Caitlin watched as he opened tall doors of leaded glass and removed a bottle of fine rum. His movements were graceful in a masculine way, and he seemed totally unconcerned about her position so near the door. She darted a quick look outside, considering a run for it through the fields that stretched for miles behind the house.

  "I hope you aren't contemplating escape. That would be most foolish."

  Trey poured himself a portion of rum as he spoke, then turned to look at her. The slow creep of color rising beneath her fragile, honey-tinted features alerted him that the notion of escape had indeed been dancing in that pretty little head. He smiled at her, sweeping his arm toward a high-backed Spanish chair with intricately scrolled arms.

  "Please sit down, Caitlin, and
I will explain to you exactly who I am and why I have brought you here to Windsway."

  It chafed Caitlin to the bone to do his bidding, but she quickly sat, wanting even more to hear the explanation he'd promised. She watched as he drank again. He acts as though he were master of Winds-way, she fumed. Drinking her father's rum! Ordering Pearl about! He was detestable! Her fingers itched to jerk the dagger from its hiding place in her boot while that broad back was turned to her with such arrogant self-confidence! But she wouldn't risk that, not yet. He was very strong and could no doubt take it from her with very little effort, and she intended to keep the dirk for when she really needed it.

  "Would you care for a cup of tea? Or coffee, perhaps?"

  His inquiry was so mockingly polite that it irritated Caitlin. Her answer was coated with ice.

  "If rum will do for the likes of you, sir, ‘twill surely do as well for me."

  One straight eyebrow lifted in quizzical regard, but Trey poured an equal portion of rum in a glass for her. His eyes widened considerably as Caitlin threw back her head in the best buccaneer fashion and downed her rum in one hearty draught. The goblet was returned to the desktop with a purposeful clink, and her golden eyes locked with his gaze in unuttered, unwavering challenge.

  A smile lurked at the corners of Trey's mouth.

  "That's hardly a ladylike way to drink, Caitlin."

  Caitlin's face went livid with resentment. How dare he criticize her!

  "Who the bloody devil are you?"

  Trey heaved a deep fortifying breath. As far as polite manners were concerned, Caitlin Alexander had a great deal to learn, and unfortunately, it was up to him to teach them to her.

  "Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Trey Cameron, Earl of Worthington. I have come—"

  "Oh, my, how very impressive," Caitlin said, sneering contemptuously.

  "Perhaps since my title does not impress you," he went on quietly, "the fact that I have been appointed as your legal guardian will."