The Hawk and the Dove Read Free Page B

sons carried on the glorious name of Hawkhurst, rivaling Howard, Raleigh, and even Drake in the eyes of the townfolk of Devonport.
    His elder son, Captain Hawkhurst, had been at sea for almost six months and did not know yet that his father was ailing. A crowd had gathered on the seawall and jetty, all jostling for a position that would afford them a look at the magnificent, near-legendary figure. The women almost swooned in anticipation of a glimpse of the handsome, powerfully built man the queen called her Sea God. They were agog over the prize he had in tow. It was obviously a Portuguese or Spanish galleon and theyspeculated about its cargo of gold or silver, or jewels at the very least. They would have called a liar any man who referred to Hawkhurst as a freebooter or pirate. To them he was a merchant seaman, a privateer, and a defender of England’s sea lanes. No wonder Britannia ruled the waves when the queen had the sworn loyalty and strength of men such as the Sea God.
    He stood on the forecastle bridge, his deep masculine voice booming forth his orders to his seamen. The steering sails were pulled in by sailors high in the rigging, then the ship lowered anchor, once more safe in harbor. A cheer went up from the crowd and The Sea God’s teeth flashed white in his bronzed face as he waved his acknowledgment. He was well over six feet tall, with surely the broadest shoulders in England. He was deeply tanned and his hair, which was naturally black, had highlights where the strong sun had streaked its tips. He wore it long and it reminded one of a lion’s mane.
    The crowd waited patiently until he came ashore, knowing the show he would provide would be well worth the wait. Seamen carried his trunks and chests up to the big house on the cliff. Then came his matched pair of Irish wolfhounds, which traveled everywhere with him, and his beloved black stallion, Neptune. Sooner or later his personal manservant would emerge from belowdecks —the monklike “baron,” who wore a long dark robe and never uttered a word. Lastly would come the small doll-like woman with the slanted almond eyes, dressed in richly embroidered silk pantaloons and slitted tunic. The tales of her strange origins and the Sea God’s possession of her would run the gamut from concubine to slave.
    At last Hawkhurst stepped ashore to wend his way to the mansion. When men shouted his name, he answeredthem by their names. He blew kisses to the women who were waving at him wildly and tossed handfuls of coins to the boys who ran after him, imitating his bold gait as he regained his “land legs.”
    The women sighed after him, but excitement lingered within each bosom, for arrived home with the Sea God were a hundred of his sailors—husbands, lovers, unattached bachelors all starving for the company of a generous woman to warm their beds this night and the nights yet to come. Hawkhurst men were special—all seasoned veterans, utterly without fear, for their commander was a genius at seamanship and a master of deceit. He concentrated on richly laden Spanish treasure ships and stalked them with an unholy fervor. Hawkhurst men received a share of the prizes they took and always had well-lined pockets.
    Every servant Devonport House possessed managed to be on hand for Hawkhurst’s arrival and assure him of their warmest welcome home. His beautiful mother, Georgiana, had been watching for him from the highest window in the house and rushed down the spiral staircase to be engulfed in his great arms. She was a dark-haired beauty, her eyes the deep, deep blue of a summer’s sky. Always very feminine, she was elegantly fashionable in the extreme.
    “My darling Shane,” she said, “I’m so glad to have you home.” She was the only one who called him Shane. He signed his documents only S. Hawkhurst, and since his father’s name was Sebastian, most people assumed that they shared their Christian name. Mother and son had such a deep bond, he was instantly aware