As before, it was hard to tell how long they sailed. It had seemed a long time that other night, and it certainly seemed no shorter this time. They must be going west, because she could feel the rays of the setting sun on her face. And then she felt the change in direction and the sun was gone. The air was close and warm and she guessed that they had entered the chine. Now they were using oars and the sound was almost muffled.
Then one of her companions produced the low hoot of an owl, and immediately there was an answering whistle, soft as rain.
“We made good time,” Mike said, receiving a grunt of agreement in response. “It’d be all right for ye to take off the blindfold now, I reckon, miss.”
Olivia reached up to untie the strip of linen. Despite the softness of the light, she was dazzled for a minute. Then she made out the elegant shape of Wind Dancer just ahead, rocking gently at anchor in the middle of the narrow, cliff-lined chine. Of course, there must be a deep channel in the middle. Deep enough for the frigate’s draft. The anchorage was utterly secluded, the cliffs rising to either side, just a sliver of sky visible at the top. The chine continued beyond the ship, but growing ever narrower.
The oarsmen brought the boat up against the ship’s side, and Mike tied her up at a ring in the stern. Olivia looked up and saw Anthony leaning over the rail at the head of the rope ladder. He called down, “Stay where you are, Olivia.”
“I’m coming up,” she returned. Holding the blindfold, she accepted Mike’s proffered hand onto the ladder and clambered up. It swung out alarmingly from the side of the ship as she climbed, and she had to remind herself that she’d once jumped across a boarding net with the open sea yawning many feet below her. The britches made the climb easier, though.
Anthony offered her his hand but she scorned his assistance and swung herself over the rail, followed by Mike and the oarsmen. With a gesture of disdain, she flicked the linen blindfold at him. It snapped against his cheek.
Anthony twitched it out of her hands. “Annoyed you, did it?” He sounded somewhat satisfied.
“Tit for tat?” she demanded.
“Precisely.” His eyes gleamed.
“Are we going to play chess?”
“Why else did you go to such trouble to get me a message?” he mocked. “If you’d like to return to the dinghy, we’ll be on our way.”
“On our way where?” Olivia to her annoyance was startled and heard herself express it.
“Wait and see, my flower.” He regarded her still with that gleam in his eye.
Without a word, Olivia swung herself back over the rail, climbed down the ladder, and deposited herself in the boat.
“I’d tread cautious if I was you,” Adam muttered as Anthony leaned over the rail beside him.
Anthony regarded the boat’s occupant rather in the manner of one assessing the temper of an unpredictable feline. “You may have a point. But I think I’m a match.”
“Are you coming or not?” Olivia shouted up at him.
Anthony shot Adam a grin. “Then again, maybe not.” He swung himself over the rail and climbed down to the dinghy.
Whistling softly, he reached up and loosed the painter from its ring. He sat down and took up the oars, using one to push the boat away from the side of the ship. He pulled strongly, still whistling, heading further down the chine.
“Where are we going?” Olivia stared over his shoulder as he rowed. It seemed as if they were going to disappear into the cliffs at the narrowest point.
“Wait and see” was the infuriating response.
At the moment when it really seemed they were about to run up against the wall of cliff at the furthest point of the chine, Anthony rested on his oars, regarding Olivia thoughtfully.
“So, how did you discover the secret of the oratory?”
“A question for a question,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.
“Go on.”
“Are you intending to rescue the king?”
He said nothing immediately, whistling between his teeth in customary fashion, frowning at the anchored ship behind her.
“And if I am?” he asked eventually.
Olivia shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “But I’m not a fool, and I won’t be taken for one.”
“Oh, believe me, I have never done that,” he said definitely.
“So are you? Is that why you’re pretending to be a nitwit hanger-on at the court, so no one will take any notice of you? So no one will ever think you’re capable of planning so much as a walk along the clifftop?”
Anthony laughed softly. “I trust no one else can see through my little game.”
“Well, of course they won’t. I can see through it because I know you.”
“Do you?” He leaned on his oars, watching her closely in the dim light of the chine.
“I know what you are… or at least, I know what you are not,” she corrected.
“So, how did you discover about the oratory?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I think I have.”
She supposed that in the absence of a denial, she had an affirmative. “A little boy was so excited about his toy ship that he let some things slip while he was playing.”
“Ah, one of the Barker brood.” He took up his oars again. “An inherent risk, but one I consider reasonable.” He frowned at her. “So, how does Lord Granville’s daughter view this matter?”
“I don’t know,” Olivia said. “I haven’t asked her.”
Anthony’s crooked smile flashed.
Chapter Twelve
Anthony turned the boat in the narrow passage. “Can you swim?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. I grew up in Yorkshire. No one swims in Yorkshire. I’d never even seen the sea until we came here.”
“Then it’s time you learned.”
“I thought we were going to play chess.”
“That too.”
Then Olivia saw the gap in the cliff. It was a very narrow arch. The boat shot through it with one pull on the oars, and suddenly they were in a small sandy cove, open to the sea, but protected on three sides by the overhang of the undercliff.
Olivia gazed at the great red ball of the setting sun dipping into the sea just beyond the jagged rocks of the Needles. After the confines of the chine it was like being on open sea once more.
Anthony smiled at her rapt pleasure and pulled into the beach. “In those clothes, you can manage to scramble ashore unaided,” he commented.
“Do you like them?” She stood up and the boat rocked alarmingly.
“They have their advantages,” he said judiciously. “But on the whole I prefer you naked. As you know, in general I like to use nude models.”
Olivia began to feel as if things were slipping away from her again. She had thought she had been so much in control of this encounter, but now she wasn’t so sure. “I have no intention of sitting for you,” she stated. “Nude or otherwise.”
“Take your shoes and stockings off before you paddle ashore,” he instructed as if he hadn’t heard her.
Olivia did as he said but found that her fingers were clumsy.
“You should roll up the britches too.”
Sucking in her lower lip, Olivia rolled the britches to her knees. The pirate gave her his hand and she jumped into the shallow water. It was delightfully warm and the ridged sand was both hard and soft against her unaccustomed soles. She paddled to shore while Anthony hauled the boat up onto the sand.
“What is all this?” Olivia gestured in amazement to the collection of objects on the beach.
“A chessboard,” he pointed out. “Then supper. I trust you like roast chicken. And blankets and pillows for a night under the stars.”
The chicken looked utterly inedible by anything other than a fox, although it did seem to be plucked. “You’re going to c-cook that?”
“I’m an expert,” he assured her. “You’ll find driftwood along the tideline. Pick smaller pieces as well for kindling.”
Olivia hesitated. She looked across at the setting sun; she felt its rays on her face, the sand beneath her feet. And slowly, inexorably, the skeins of the dream wrapped themselves around her once more.