Pirate's Golden Promise by Lynette Vinet Page A

pleaded with him again to put her down.
    â€œLook beneath you,” he ordered.
    She did so, and saw a black mass of churning sea and heard the pounding sound of the waves against the hull of the ship.
    â€œIt’s the ocean,” she said, terrified.
    â€œCan you swim?” he asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen hold on to my neck. We’re going to jump to the Sea Bride.”
    Wynter lifted her head and saw that the Sea Bride was alongside the Mary Jack, held in place by grappling hooks. Stout Hilda was being swung across the distance by a swarthy pirate who held onto a rope from the mast head.
    â€œYou’re crazed,” Wynter said, realizing Van Linden had meant what he said.
    He laughed. “I’ve been called many things, but never that.” He changed her position, holding her within his strong left arm while he grabbed for the rope when it swung back to the sinking Mary Jack.
    â€œNow hold tightly!” he ordered, and she did so out of a terror that seemed to claw at her very soul. The moment her arms tightened around him, he bounced off the rail.
    They sailed through dark space, and Wynter held onto him, waiting for the inevitable splash into the sea. She closed her eyes and hoped that if she went under water she’d surface quickly enough to catch another breath.
    But suddenly she heard a thud and nearly flew from her protector’s arms. Still she wouldn’t open her eyes until she heard Cort’s gentle voice telling her to.
    Her lids fluttered open and she saw they were on the deck of the Sea Bride, surrounded by the pirate crew. She noticed Fletch and the others being led below deck.
    Despite the fact that she thought Cort Van Linden one of the most despicable men in the world, she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief and leaned against the solid weight of his body.
    â€œIt’s a miracle,” she said, glad to be alive and not at the bottom of the ocean.
    Cort set her down gently to her feet and turned her to face him, “No, my love, it’s destiny.”

CHAPTER
7
    The Sea Bride sliced through the calm waters of the Atlantic. The first rays of a golden sun kissed the deep blue of the ocean and warmed the indentures as they sat huddled on deck, sipping fresh tea offered them by a young cabin boy.
    The boy’s English was poor, and his eyes riveted on Wynter when he spoke. “Tea, is good?” he asked.
    Wynter nodded and sipped the warm brew. “Very good.”
    â€œJa, ja. Me make good tea.” Then the boy disappeared with a contented look on his face.
    â€œTsk, tsk,” Hilda said in disapproval. “That lad is no older than twelve. Such a pity he should be among pirates.”
    â€œAye, it is,” Davey agreed, but Mary said nothing, looking as if she were about to cry.
    Fletcher coughed, and Wynter gently patted his back. “You’re still unwell,” she said.
    He lifted his head after wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve, and the look he gave her froze any further offers of sympathy from her. “A lot you care, Wynter. I saw the way the captain looked at you, how he held you in his arms. T’ain’t no bloke holds a wench that way except if he wants to lie with her.”
    â€œFletch!” How dare he speak to her in such a derogatory way? She couldn’t help it if Cort Van Linden wasn’t a gentleman, but she most certainly hadn’t asked to be hauled from the Mary Jack onto a pirate ship, and she resented the accusing tone in his voice that she enjoyed being manhandled by Van Linden. What was worse were the speculative glances the others threw her. “I think you don’t realize to whom you’re speaking,” she said in her most frosty, mistress-of-the-manor voice.
    â€œI’m talking to my wife,” Fletcher reminded her harshly, putting Wynter in her place.
    He’s right, she thought bitterly and swallowed the last of her tea. She was Fletcher Larkin’s wife