Charon's Crossing

"In all the what?" Kathryn said, when the other woman suddenly fell silent.

A flush rose in Olive's dark cheeks. "It's just jumbie nonsense, Kathryn. Surely, you are not interested in—"

"But I am." Kathryn forced a smile to her lips. "After all, this girl is my ancestor. What were you going to say?"

"Only that there are stories, that's all. Tall tales. Island tales. There is nothing unusual in that. My people have always been great storytellers."

"Tales about Charon's Crossing?"

"About everything," Olive said with a quick smile.

"And what stories are there about Cat Russell?"

"Kathryn, really, I have no wish to bore you with—"

"I'm not bored, I'm fascinated." Kathryn smiled stiffly. "What do they say about her?"

"Only that she was very beautiful."

"And? Come on, Olive. What else?"

"Well, they say men flocked to her. Powerful men. Handsome ones, the ones other women wanted." Olive leaned closer. "It is even said she had two different lovers at the same time."

Kathryn's smile eased. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. One was an older man, with lands and estates in England. Lord Waring, his name was."

"And the other?" Kathryn was leaning back against the railing now, enjoying the story. Why on earth had she been so nervous about hearing it? It was just what Olive had said, island, gossip. And, she had to admit, fun to listen to, even though it was a couple of hundred years old. She shot the other woman a conspiratorial grin. "Don't tell me," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He was young. And gorgeous. And a rogue. Right?"

"Young, yes. He was an American, the captain of his own ship. And some did call him a rogue."

"Why? What did he do?"

"In 1811, his ship was commissioned to sail under the British flag as a privateer, seizin' ships and goods owned by the French. But they say he took to lootin' any ship he could catch, regardless of her nationality."

"A pirate," Kathryn said with delight.

"So some called him."

"Well, go on. You said he was Cat Russell's lover."

"Yes."

"And gorgeous?"

"So it is said." Olive was laughing. " 'Course, what else would they say? A rogue would never be described as anything but tall and handsome, with hair the color of burnished gold and emerald green eyes...."

Kathryn clutched the railing for support, her hands as white as her face.

"Kathryn? Kathryn, what is it? My Lord, girl, you look as if you're going to faint!"

Olive was right. She was going to pass out, right here on the terrace...

"Kathryn?"

Kathryn dragged a breath deep into her lungs.

"I'm—I'm all right," she whispered.