Love's Odyssey Read online

  One afternoon she spotted him having a word with the skipper and drifted in that direction. When Pieter turned his head and saw her, the expression that swept across his face made Romell stop in her tracks. A moment later he came toward her, smiling—had she only imagined that look of triumphant menace?

  "I'm happy to see you, Romellje," he said, bowing.

  "Are you? I understand you've been seeing me without my seeing you these last weeks."

  Pieter moved closer. "I didn't think you wanted to talk to me, you were so cold to me. I thought perhaps you'd chosen the Englishman."

  "Are you speaking of Mister Montgomery? I've not chosen him or any other man aboard this ship. You must remember, Mijnheer van der Pol waits in Batavia."

  "No, you must remember it, not I."

  Romell blinked. What was Pieter talking about? His eyes glittered strangely and his hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke. "Is something troubling you?" she asked.

  He laughed but there was no humor in the sound. "Not any more. God Himself can't prevent me from succeeding now."

  "I wish you success in the future, naturally," she said formally, made uneasy by his actions and the conversation.

  "Do you? I doubt that. In any case, it makes no difference, for soon we shall sight the Southland coast. Do you know, Romellje, how rich a cargo we carry? Cloth and wines, cheeses, silver, jewels—all wait in the ship's belly. For whom do they wait? That's the question."

  Romell tried to make sense of this and at last decided she knew what he meant. "Are you worrying about a pirate attack?"

  Pieter laughed again, seeming to find her question genuinely funny. "Not yet," he said when he could speak. "Not yet, Romellje."

  He was certainly behaving strangely. She regretted her impulse to confront him; she'd lost any urge to know why he'd been spying on her. "I shouldn't care to have pirates attack us," she said.

  "I'll take care of you, you needn't fear."

  "Thank you. I'm sure you and the other soldiers will."

  "Very good care of you. Wait and see."

  "What?" Skipper Hardens said loudly. "Keeping such a pretty young lady to yourself, Cadet Brouwer? It's not fair."

  Romell turned; she'd not heard the skipper come up behind them. Jan Hardens managed to run his hand down her arm before she sidestepped closer to Pieter. How she detested this type of man! Let him keep his foulmouthed Loulie. They deserved one another.

  "You'll have to excuse Pieter, Mejuffrouw Wellsley," the skipper went on. "All our soldiers have special duties, now that we're traveling alone, and I must instruct him further."

  "Certainly." She smiled politely at both men and turned to walk away. Before she'd gotten out of earshot, she heard the skipper angrily admonishing Pieter: "Keep your blasted mouth shut until we sight the Southland coast."

  Pieter had mentioned the Southland coast. What was so special about sighting it? Surely the skipper depended on other navigational aids to chart a course.

  Margitte approached Romell after the evening meal. "May I ask a favor?" she said. "It's so difficult to wash my hair without help, and I especially want everything perfect for tomorrow night. If you could stop by my cabin in the morning?"

  What reason was there to refuse? "I'll be there," Romell promised, wondering what occasion Margitte was readying herself for. She hadn't seen Margitte with Adrien so often lately, but that might not mean anything since she rarely saw Adrien at all.

  Am I to wash her hair so she'll be more perfect for him? So when he takes her in his arms . . . ? No, she wouldn't think about him holding Margitte, making love to her.

  "Don't pull such a long face," Margitte chided. "If you can keep a secret, I'll relieve your mind by telling you it's not your English friend I plan to be with tomorrow night."

  "I don't care who you plan to—"

  "You care very much. I begin to suspect there's been something between you two Englishers. Adrien plays the bored gentleman about you, but I don't believe him—you're too pretty for a lusty young man to ignore. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me?"

  Romell knew her face was a telltale scarlet. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Margitte shrugged. "Perhaps you would also dress my hair later tomorrow," she said.

  Romell agreed and went up to take a last walk about the deck in the soft evening air. The ship trailed phosphorescence in its wake. Somewhere below deck a tenor voice sang a song of the sea to the plucking of a lute. It was a night to dream of love. Romell shook her head and went below. Once in her bunk, she couldn't sleep.

  The journey was nearing an end. She'd come thousands of miles aboard the same ship as Adrien Montgomery, yet they were as far apart as if he'd sailed and she'd stayed in Amsterdam. What had she hoped for? He didn't want to marry her, he'd admitted as much. And she'd agreed to marry another man, a stranger.

  Her nightgown clung damply to her body, and she wondered if she could bear her stuffy cabin until dawn. She must stay inside, of course. She hadn't needed Margitte's comments to tell her the danger of wandering alone on the ship at night. Romell turned and tossed restlessly, finally sat up to pull her gown over her head, but when she lay back down the feel of the covers against her bare skin made her remember another ship and another cabin.

  Adrien. If he were to come to her now, what would she do? She knew better than to let him lie with her again, and yet ...

  Romell drifted into an uneasy sleep. When she first became conscious of the soft tapping at the door, she thought she was dreaming.

  "Who is it?" she asked, finally awake enough to realize that someone was outside her door.

  She could barely hear the answer. "Margitte ... let me in."

  Romell slid from her bunk, hastily slipped her nightgown over her head and went to the door. "What do you want?" she asked.

  "I need help." The voice was still faint, but it did sound like Margitte.

  Romell unlocked and opened the door.

  A hand closed over her mouth and she was thrust back inside the cabin. She heard Loulie's giggle, cut off when the door was kicked shut, then she was on the bunk, struggling with the man who pressed his body against hers.

  Romell wrenched her face away from his hand and screamed once before he covered her mouth again.

  "Be still," he ordered in Dutch, and she recognized the voice.

  Pieter.

  Chapter 8

  Romell writhed and twisted, but the weight of Pieter's body pinned her to the bunk. She heard the heavy rasp of his breathing, felt the urgency of the hand that fumbled to raise her nightgown. His other hand was still firm across her mouth, so she couldn't bite him or call for help. She smelled the pungent fumes of Holland gin.

  Was Pieter drunk? Had he been drinking with Loulie and the skipper and persuaded Loulie to pretend to be Margitte? For Romell now was certain it had been Loulie outside the door.

  Romell couldn't reach his eyes with her fingers because his face was buried in her neck, but she pounded on his head with her fists, then pulled his hair. She tried to bring up her knee, but his hand was forcing her legs apart. He was too strong for her to break free or hurt him enough, so she'd have to try to escape.

  Now his mouth found her breast. She protested with low animal sounds in her throat, the only noise she could make.

  "Romell!"

  For a moment she didn't understand that the voice wasn't Pieter's, that someone else was in the room. Then she saw the wedge of dim light on the ceiling. Her door was open!

  "Romell, are you all right?" She knew it was Adrien.

  She felt Pieter's hand leave her mouth as his heavy weight shifted from her. Romell screamed Adrien's name as she rolled away from Pieter. There was the thud of one body hitting another, and then she heard footsteps pounding down the passageway.

  Arms came around her and she clutched at them, sobbing, found herself held not by Adrien but by Margitte. Even in her agitated relief at the rescue, she felt a stab of disappointment because it wasn't Adrien.
/>
  Margitte stroked her hair, soothing her, helped her sit up, handed her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Then Margitte lit the candle and closed and bolted the door. She turned to face Romell.

  "Luckily, Adrien and I were just going into my cabin when you screamed. I assume we got here before the worst happened?"

  Romell managed to nod, her mind in turmoil. Adrien and Margitte. While she dreamed of Adrien, he was with Margitte.

  "Adrien's gone after the man. When he catches him . . ." Margitte's words trailed off. She cocked her head and looked at Romell appraisingly.

  "Do you want to see your young officer in chains?" she asked.

  Romell swallowed. Pieter in chains?

  "What they'll do to him once the officials at the Castle in Batavia take over will be even worse. He'll hang. Of course, if Adrien doesn't catch him, he won't be certain who he is. After all, one soldier looks a good deal like another from the back in such a dim passageway."

  Pieter had no right to try to force me, Romell told herself; no right to connive with others to get into my room. But ... to be hanged for it?

  "You'll have to be the one who identifies the man as Cadet Brouwer." Margitte stared at Romell as she spoke, and Romell found she couldn't meet her eyes.

  Could she accuse Pieter? Romell asked herself. She'd seen the cell in the cargo hold where men were chained. He wouldn't even be able to stand up straight inside. And then in Batavia. . . .

  There came a knock at the door. "Romell?" Adrien called.

  Margitte answered before Romell could speak. "She's not hurt. Everything is all right." With her hand on the bolt to open the door, she glanced back at Romell. "Do you want Adrien to see you like that?"

  Romell glanced down at her torn nightgown and hastily slid under the rumpled covers of the bunk. Margitte opened the door.

  "Romell's resting," Margitte said, standing in the doorway so Adrien couldn't enter.

  "The man got away," Romell heard him say.

  "She told me she has no idea who it was," Margitte said.

  Romell sat up in bed. She'd said no such thing!

  "I think it best if you don't disturb her," Margitte went on. "In fact, I'm going to my cabin now." She turned her head toward Romell. "Be sure to get up and lock yourself in, dear." Then she was gone, the door shut behind her.

  Romell jumped out of bed indignantly and hurried to the door. But as she started to open it, she realized that she couldn't run out into the passageway in her torn gown. She shot the bolt and sat down on the bunk. Now that she had a moment to think, she wondered how Margitte had known the man was Pieter. And why would she want to protect him? Romell sighed. She'd come to have the feeling that Margitte was always one step ahead of her.

  If Pieter was to go unpunished—as he would if Romell didn't accuse him—then Loulie wouldn't be punished either. Still, she hadn't actually seen Loulie, she only suspected her. What kind of woman was it who would deliberately help a man rape another woman? Romell grimaced. Loulie had probably been drinking too. And did Skipper Hardens know of Loulie and Pieter's attempt on her? Romell shivered.

  I don't want Pieter or Loulie to get away with this, she told herself. I’m afraid of Pieter, afraid to have him loose on the Zuiderwind. Tomorrow I'll speak to Commandeur Zwaan.

  The next morning, as Romell dressed in a light-weight gown because of the warm day, a sailor knocked on her door and called through the panel that the commandeur would like to see her, at her convenience. She finished dressing, wondering if the summons meant the night's happenings were common gossip by now.

  "I hope you're none the worse for your terrible experience," Willem Van Buren said to her when she emerged on deck.

  Romell gave him a noncommittal answer, thinking she must be imagining that the look in his eyes was subtly offensive as his gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts. But when she encountered the bold stares of sailors who'd only glanced sideways at her before, she understood that at least some of the men aboard the Zuiderwind now saw her differently—less of a lady, perhaps not a lady at all.

  But it wasn't my fault! He attacked me after into my cabin by a ruse. No one can imagine I'm to blame.

  He. She was thinking of Pieter as "he"—an unidentified attacker. Is that what she planned to tell Commandeur Zwaan?

  "I shall personally see that the man is punished," the commandeur told her when she saw him a few minutes later. "Fifty lashes aboard the ship and in chains until I can turn him over to Company advocates at the Castle."

  Romell tried not to show her distress.

  "I wish someone had gotten a better look at the lout," Cornelius Zwaan went on. "Montgomery tells me he's sure it was one of the soldiers, but he couldn't give me a positive identification." He looked questioningly at her.

  Romell hesitated. This was her final chance to tell the truth. In her mind she heard the thwack of the lash hitting Pieter's flesh.

  "I—it was completely dark in my cabin," she said, "and I was very upset."

  "Yes, of course," Zwaan said hastily. "Awful for you. I regret that it happened aboard my ship."

  At least the commandeur had only seemed embarrassed, Romell thought when she was out on deck again. She walked slowly along, the heat of the sun on her black dress making a rivulet of perspiration trickle between her breasts. She went below to her stifling cabin and, stripped to her chemise, tried to rest. Although she felt exhausted, sleep eluded her. By afternoon she could bear it no longer, and dressed again and climbed to the quarterdeck.

  The unrelenting sun drove her into the shade of the yawl, which was lashed to its davits. She wedged herself into a recess next to the yawl and, tucking her skirts under her legs, sat leaning against a supporting timber. Now she felt a welcome drowsiness steal over her. Since she was half hidden here, surely she could close her eyes for a moment or two without causing a fuss.

  Romell awoke to the sound of voices. For a second she was confused as to where she was. It was growing dark--how long had she been asleep? She began to straighten her cramped legs when a woman spoke--she recognized Loulie's voice.

  "I'm getting mortal tired of hearing 'when we sight the Southland coast,’ " Loulie said. "I begin to think you're all words and no action."

  "Hush that talk, woman, we're in the open here," Skipper Hardens warned.

  Romell could see neither of them, and she fervently hoped they wouldn't see her either. She was trapped until they moved away, since she couldn't bring herself to crawl out now and be accused of eavesdropping.

  "I'll say what I like." But Loulie had lowered her voice and Romell barely heard her.

  "You'll see," Jan Hardens said, "There'll be plenty for everyone."

  "Jewels," Loulie said. "You promised me jewels."

  "You'll get them and more, once the ship is ours."

  "And that uppity bitch, Margitte. I'm going to do for her, all right. Feed her to the sharks, that's what I'll do." Loulie's voice rose and again the skipper hushed her.

  "Best you go back to the cabin," he said. "See you keep out of mischief until dawn. We should sight the coast soon after."

  Romell heard them move away, but she stayed where she was while she sorted out the sense of their words. What had the skipper meant, "once the ship is ours?" Wasn't it his? Well, no, not really. All the Indiamen belonged to the VOC, and Jan Hardens wasn't even the senior officer aboard--Commandeur Zwaan was. She gasped. Could the skipper be planning mutiny? Plan to take over the ship and turn pirate, like Pieter had once joked about doing? A respectable skipper with the VOC?

  Was he so respectable? He had Loulie installed in his cabin and he'd openly flouted the commandeur's request that he get rid of her. And he seemed to smell of genever every time Romell talked to him. She wriggled out from her hiding place and stood up. She must warn Commandeur Zwaan immediately!

  As she hurried along the deck, another thought struck her. The skipper was the navigator who set the ship's course. Could he have deliberately lost the other three vessels in the
storm and then kept enough off course so the Zuiderwind wouldn't be found?

  Commandeur Zwaan seemed surprised to see her standing in the doorway when he answered her knock. "I wasn't expecting you," he said.

  "I must talk to you."

  She thought he seemed reluctant to let her in. He wore a coat she'd never seen on him before, one of dark red with a magnificent lace collar. On the table behind him was a wine decanter and two glasses. She remembered then that he was expecting Margitte.

  "I overheard Skipper Hardens talking with Loulie, Mevrouw Van Slyke's maid . . . that is, she used to be." Romell said. "I thought what he said sounded as if he might be planning a mutiny."

  Cornelius Zwaan frowned. "A mutiny? Jan Hardens? I doubt that. Come, girl, you've misunderstood the man. That he's a fool about that slut I do believe. That he's planning a mutiny, never. I may not trust him entirely, but unless he's lost his mind—"

  "He talked of giving her jewels and the ship being his and—"

  "A love-besotted fool boasting to his doxie. Why would a man who's come as far as he has in the Company risk everything for a chance to dangle from the gibbet outside the Castle of Batavia? For that would be what he'd face—a public hanging—and being left to rot there as a warning to others. No, my dear, Skipper Hardens is far too fond of his own skin to risk it."

  "He sounded like he meant what he said. And Loulie—"

  "That woman is a menace!" Zwaan snapped. Then, forcing a smile, he touched Romell’s arm gently, guiding her to the door. "You go below now and rest. It's no wonder you're finding imaginary dangers, after your harrowing experience last night. Yes, best get to your cabin before it's completely dark." He ushered her through the door. "Shall I ask the cabin boy to see you below?"

  "No, please don't bother. But I do wish you would—"

  "Goodnight," he said firmly, closing the door.

  Romell stood there a moment, fighting the urge to bang on the door and demand that he hear her out. It would do little good. There was no use trying to convince a man who would not listen. Could he be right? Was she misinterpreting what she'd overheard? Certainly, Loulie had sounded as if she'd relish tossing Margitte overboard.