Captive Embraces Page 3

  Regan chuckled, “How is it you know how a brothel smells?”

  “Whoring bastard!” Sirena shrilled. “You talk in your sleep. I learn everything about you when you sleep. I ask you questions and you, fool that you are, answer me.” Suddenly she laughed, a high, silvery tinkle that bounced off the walls and came to rest on Regan’s ears. He flinched at the sound but leapt across the bed.

  Deftly, she sidestepped him, flinging a small, jeweled coffer at his head.

  “If that had found its mark, I would be seriously hurt,” Regan growled.

  “I know,” Sirena answered softly, “you’ve grown fat, Regan. You’re slow and clumsy, like all Dutchmen,” she trilled. “Rich food and too much rum has added inches to your girth. I have no desire to bed an obese man,” she taunted. “Find your way out of my presence.”

  “You can’t win, Sirena. I mean to have you and I will. Come here to me and we’ll make a new son.” The instant the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back. Never had he seen such unleashed fury.

  The room was a living explosion of objects hurtling as though they had a life of their own. Dresser drawers and anything that could be lifted had to be reckoned. with. Dodging a high-flying shoe, he covered his head, cursing all Spaniards and women in general. Sirena returned his oaths just as quickly and vehemently. “All you want is for me to be ugly and heavy with your child.”

  “I’m a man,” Regan said through clenched teeth, “and you’re a woman!”

  “Which means what?”

  “Which means I’m the superior. We’re not fighting with weapons now. Now it’s man versus woman and the man is the stronger.”

  “I have only your word for that. Chaezar Alvarez made the mistake of thinking the same thing,” Sirena said quietly as she gauged the distance between herself and the doorway.

  “Chaezar,” Regan sneered, “was an animal, not a man! I am a man, Sirena, your husband, and when I say I mean to have you, I will! You are also coming with me when I leave for Spain. I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” he said, racing toward the door as soon as he saw what her objective was.

  Roughly he grasped her by both shoulders, his fingers biting cruelly into her flesh. He issued an epithet of disgust as he threw her onto the bed. The breath driven from her body, Sirena could only gasp. Regan stood looking down at her, his face a mixture of emotions. “I mean to have you ... one way or the other,” he said distinctly. “And make no mistake, you’ll be aboard my ship in the morning. I have just now decided to hasten my departure and you will be with me!”

  Sirena lay quietly, her eyes half closed. She neither acknowledged hearing his words nor that she cared what he stated.

  “Stand up!” Regan ordered.

  “No.”

  Regan pulled her to her feet. “Take your clothes off,” he ordered. “You always did have a penchant for wearing mourning garb. When you first came here, you hid yourself beneath your black gowns and your prayer beads. All the while you were commanding a ship, playing the part of a lady pirate. Lady! Bah! You were no more a lady than the monkeys in the trees. I’m sick of this drab attire. Take it off!”

  “No.”

  “Then I will do it for you,” Regan snarled as he tore her gown from throat to navel. Her breasts, free of their restrictions, were taut and erect beneath the thin chemise she wore.

  “Remove the rest,” he commanded sharply, his eyes on her quivering bosom.

  “No.”

  Staring steadily at his face, Sirena felt the rest of her gown slip to the floor and lay about her feet. Regan’s hands were clenched into fists and it was with effort that he opened them to lower her gently to the soft mattress. She remained limp, her eyes wide and unblinking as his lips crushed hers. Desire mounted in him as he touched and caressed her, knowing which delicate caress awakened her desire and response.

  Caught in his passions, he mouthed sweet words of love as his lips feverishly sought her mouth, her throat, her breasts. He willed her to respond, demanded it, needed it.

  His kisses were gentle and expert as he worshipped her. Tenderly, his lips clung to hers, softly he tasted the sweetness that was hers alone. Their breath mingled, the pulse of her throat beat a tattoo against his hungry mouth. She was warm and supple beneath him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her hips answering his.

  A small cry escaped her as he kissed her with passion-bruised lips. Her senses whirled and soared, making her dizzy with a joy that bordered upon lust. Her arms closed about him, drawing him nearer.

  She craved his touch, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin. She had been starved for him and she hadn’t even realized it. She had been so caught up with thoughts about Mikel that she had lost all touch with her own feelings. She had turned away from Regan because he could make her aware that she was alive and she hadn’t wanted to be alive. She had denied Regan and herself. This man she adored with her whole being, wanted her, needed her, and she had needed him in return.

  Now he had put her back in contact with life. And she wanted to give herself—her body, her love–to him. Her sensuous embraces were answered with Regan’s scorching passion. Moaning with ecstasy, she turned her body in his arms, pliant to his demands, relishing the sensuality that was rising to the surface. A sensuality too long held dormant.

  Exulting in his pleasure, Sirena sought for and found the most sensual caress and was enraptured with the pleasure and inspiration she gave him. Against his lips she murmured, “Have me, have me, Regan. For now, for tomorrow, for always...”

  Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms, both of them having found peace. Sirena’s eyes closed languidly.

  “Darling, have you changed your mind? You will come with me, say it. I need to hear you say it.” Regan’s voice was warm and his arms tightened about her, urging her answer.

  “Shhhh,” Sirena whispered, laying a gentle hand on his lips. “We’ll speak of it later.”

  “No.” Regan’s tone was gentle. “We must discuss it now. I want you to travel to Spain with me. Caleb is in school in Holland. We’d be closer to him in Spain. Say you’ll come.” He was just making a formal gesture in asking. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that her answer would be in the affirmative. “Your holdings must be put in order. You’ve always wanted to return to your homeland and now I’m ready to go with you.”

  “But Mikel. I can’t leave him,” Sirena said tearfully.

  “Sirena,” Regan said kindly, “Mikel is gone. Staying here won’t change anything.”

  “I can’t. I can’t leave. I hate this island and what it has robbed from me,” Sirena cried, “but I can’t leave. How can you be so inhuman as to ask me such a thing. Didn’t Mikel mean anything to you? How can you want to abandon the one thing our love created? I don’t understand you, you’re his father.”

  “Was his father. Why don’t you understand? Day after day you sit there by his grave and pull the weeds so the jungle won’t claim that small mound of earth.”

  “I can’t leave,” Sirena repeated, burying her head in the pillow. “Don’t force me to go with you.”

  “No, I won’t make you do something against your will,” Regan said sadly. “But I’ve decided to leave in the morning. If you change your mind ...”

  He was answered by Sirena’s sobs as she buried her face deeper. Regan stretched out beside her, holding her, comforting her. God, how I love him, she thought. Why can’t I do as he asks? He meant to go with her or without her. Regan never made half statements. How could she survive without him? How could she desert Mikel?

  Sometime during the long night Regan quietly left their bed. He stood looking down at Sirena for a long moment, etching her lovely features upon his memory.

  Sirena stirred, feeling his glance as though it were a loving caress. She sat up in bed, hair tumbled into a wreath of cloudy darkness, eyes bright with unshed tears, and cheeks flushed with emotion. “Regan, your ship isn’t ready to set sail. You planned this trip for the end of the
month, why are you leaving so soon?”

  “You know the answer to that, darling. It’s become a simple matter of choice. Mikel or me. Last night reminded me how much I love you and need you. There’s no place in my life for half a wife. Come with me now, Sirena. Be my love. Take Mikel with you in your heart.”

  She dropped her eyes, not being able to bear seeing the pain in his. When she again looked up, Regan’s look was cold and bitter. “Then this is good-bye, Sirena. If you should ever tire of your prayers and your vigils, perhaps you will join me in Cádiz. But I won’t wait forever, Sirena.”

  “I understand,” she said flatly. “Have a safe voyage,” she whispered, her throat constricting with her words.

  “Sirena ... I ... ,” the words were lost as she lay back against her pillow, her face calm, her eyes tearless. Regan smacked one large fist into the palm of the other hand and looked down at her. She appeared as if she were already dead and his heart went out to her. Was there nothing he could say to bring her out of this lethargy? Last night there had been a fire in her. He glanced about the room and saw the shambles they had created with their struggling. Was that the only way he could bring about her response? Did he want to spend the rest of his life raping his own wife, begging her for a physical expression of caring? For the first time he accepted the fact that she would never journey to Europe with him. Never join him on a new adventure. She had made her choice and he would have to acknowledge it, no matter how difficult it might be.

  When Regan left, Sirena lay on the tumbled sheets for some time. Emotion flooded through her, threatening to drown her, choking off air. Regan ... Regan ... her heart cried. She cried for the love they had shared, the life they had made together ... the son they had lost.

  Why couldn’t Regan realize that somehow her loss of Mikel was easier to bear when she was near the little plot of ground where the child rested.

  Sirena rose and scouted the room for her dressing gown and slippers. A smile brightened her face as she perused the wreckage of the evening before. He had been magnificent. He had conquered the feelings of emptiness engulfing her. He had demanded her love and had received it. He had been right. She did need his love. She did want it. She was a vital woman—a woman grown used to feeling the arms of her lover around her and the passions he could arouse in her.

  The house seemed suddenly empty. More desolate than it had when Caleb had gone off to school in Holland. Then, she still had Mikel to fill the day. And Regan to fill the nights. Now it was the loneliest she had ever known it to be. Even Mikel’s death had not made her feel this way. Regan’s leaving had made it become no more than a frame, a dwelling. Regan had made it a home.

  Down the stairs she ran, out to the garden. The dew glistening on the lawn soaked through her slippers and the chill morning air made her shiver.

  Heedless of the wetness, Sirena knelt beside the grave. Images of Mikel’s laughing face scampered through her memory. “Mikel ... Mikel ... ,” she cried, throwing herself face down over the shallow mound as she had done on so many days in the past. Only this time she could not feel her son’s presence. This time he seemed so distant Pathetically her fingers dug into the soft earth, clutching, gasping, refusing to be separated from her child. Heaving sobs shook her body, tears mingled with the dew. Her grief was a lonely monster strangling her, cutting off her life, making her one of the living dead.

  To her own amazement the name she cried out was not Mikel’s, it was Regan’s. Over and over she repeated his name, suffering his loss. Then an image of herself crept into her consciousness. It was of an old woman, alone and unloved, weeping over the grave of a child hundreds of years dead. She was empty ... There was no comfort to be derived from this little plot. Mikel wasn’t really beneath this ground, he was in her heart. He was in Regan’s heart. No matter where Regan would go, no matter what he would do, he would carry Mikel with him. And so could she. She could leave Java and take Mikel with her. He would always be with her in a place that was warm and bright.

  “Regan! Regan!” she called, stumbling across the wide lawn, running, running toward her love. “Regan!”

  Up the stairs and into her room, searching and seeking for her gown, her shoes. She would go to Batavia and tell him to wait for her. She would go anywhere with him, now, tomorrow, forever! And Regan would wait, she knew he would. They would come home together and see to closing the house. There was packing to be done and Frau Holtz would need time to gather together her own possessions. They would be together. Always together.

  “Frau Holtz!” she yelled from the top of the stairs, “Frau Holtz, where are you?”

  “Ja, I am here,” came the reply from the old housekeeper as she began to climb to the second floor.

  “No, don’t come up. There’s no time. Have a horse brought around to the front of the house for me.”

  The urgency in Sirena’s voice alarmed the aged woman. “Is there anything wrong? Where are you going, Mevrouw?”

  “No time to answer questions,” Sirena said with exasperation. “Just do as I say!”

  “Ja, I do it!” Frau Holtz agreed as she turned on her heel toward the back of the house. Her step was lighter than it had been in months and for some strange reason her bones didn’t ache as badly as they had just a moment before. A smile on her wizened old face, the housekeeper went to find the stable boy. This wonderful change in Sirena was a miracle. Only yesterday she had thought that she would never see that spark of life lighting Sirena’s eyes again. “Ja, I do it,” Frau Holtz repeated to herself. “I do anything to see her alive again!”

  Galloping down the dusty road to Batavia, Sirena laughed and urged the horse onward. Her long, dark hair billowed out behind her, her eyes flashed vibrantly, her smooth cheeks were flushed with excitement and she carried in her the picture of Regan’s face when she told him she would never let him depart without her. They belonged together. They had the strength, the wonder, of their love to draw upon. Wildly thrashing the horse’s flanks, she urged it faster, faster, to Regan.

  Down the elite Avenue of Lions she galloped, then through the narrow little streets to the offices of the Dutch East India Company. The wharf was a cacophony of longshoremen and traders. They turned to glance at her in amazement. The horse’s hooves beat like drums upon the planks leading out over the water. Regan’s office was at the far end of the wharf and she could see his mount tethered outside the door.

  Sirena rushed into the offices, breathless and disheveled and looking more beautiful than she had in months. The Company clerks dropped their quills, their mouths gaped open in astonishment. Not stopping to make explanations, Sirena burst into Regan’s office, her face wreathed in smiles, her eyes glowing with anticipation.

  “Regan, darling, I’m coming—” the words were choked off in her throat. Instead of Regan there was their friend, Captain Dykstra.

  “Peter,” Sirena asked breathlessly, “where’s Regan? I have wonderful news for him—” Captain Dykstra’s handsome features were drawn into a scowl and something in his bright blue eyes frightened her.

  “Peter, where is he?” Sirena asked again, this time quietly, almost subdued.

  “Peter?”

  “Sirena, he’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone?” she stammered, not comprehending what he meant. “But that’s impossible? I’ve come down here to tell him I’ve made up my mind. I’ve decided to go with him, go anywhere with him? Where has he gone?”

  Peter Dykstra’s throat swelled with emotion. He knew Regan and Sirena when they were first married. He had seen their love grow and now the pain in Sirena’s eyes was almost more than he could stand. Wordlessly he took Sirena’s arm and led her over to the window facing the sea. There, just at the horizon she perceived the top of a sail.

  Her flashing, green eyes searched Peter’s wildly. “He’s left? Without me?” She needed no answer; it was there in Captain Dykstra’s face.

  “The tides were right, Sirena. He said there was no sense putting off sailing. I tried
to stop him, his ship hasn’t been properly careened for such a long voyage. I told him it was foolhardy but he wouldn’t listen. He never listens!” Peter grumbled.

  Staggering to a chair, Sirena dropped heavily into it, covering her face with her hands. Beneath her nails was the thin, black line of dirt that had come from digging her fingers into the earth on Mikel’s grave. Gone! Regan was gone! “Peter, you’ve got to help me. I must go to him! Help me,” she implored, reaching out and clutching his sleeve.

  Peter Dykstra was helpless. Her agony was clearly apparent and mirrored that of Regan’s which he’d witnessed earlier. “I can’t help you, Sirena. There isn’t a ship in the harbor ready to make sail. Even if there were, they’re filled to the brim with cargo. You’d never catch him. The best you can do is wait a month when the next ship sets sail for Europe.”

  “The Rana,” Sirena said hopefully, “I could—”

  Peter Dykstra shook his head. “No, you couldn’t. She’s not seaworthy. She’s been in drydock. Be reasonable.”

  Sirena looked to the window. Even from where she sat, she could see the tip of Regan’s sail drop over the horizon. Peter was right. She could never catch him.

  “Sirena, let me take you home,” Peter said softly, touching her hand in consolation.

  “Home? Where is that?”

  Chapter Two

  Month after dreary month passed with Sirena doing no more than making a daily pilgrimage to the burial site. Afterward she would sit in the garden until the rains came, then return to the house and apathetically work on embroidery. She grew thin and gaunt, the hollows in her cheeks more pronounced with each passing day. The once vibrant green eyes were now as dull and lifeless as her spirit.