Love's Vengeance (15 page)

Stephen’s eyes gleamed with warmth, taking in her enchanting beauty. With a slow nod, he smiled softly and Desiree rolled her eyes with a shake of her head and then moved down the stairs disappearing below. The smile slowly waned from Stephen’s lips and he grew serious, as he watched the boiling blackness racing toward them.

***

The wind gained force throughout the day. By midday the sun seemed to have set. The only light, a dark leaden gray that masked any horizon and the ocean took on the same dark ashen hues beneath frothing whitecaps. A fine mist began to fall.

Stephen relinquished the helm briefly at around noon, going below to don foul weather gear; his much used leather jacket and long breeches, tanned to repel water. He sat to a quick meal, downed a warm cup of coffee and then headed back up on deck, to prepare to do battle with the sea.

By dusk, the wind grew to a ferocious pitch and the rain cut like small barbs into exposed flesh. Stephen and his first mate Davison remained at the helm as men set the sails, bringing in most of the sheets but the forward tops and the ship dug its heels into the wind or tacked leeward as the dance began. The sea plunged over the bow, sending a shower of chill droplets against the men as they set about running up or bringing down the sails in response to the roll of the ship. Lifelines were secured on deck from mast to mast and the battle against the gale began in earnest.

***

Night closed in, with a pitch-blackness that engulfed the sea. Not a star, not the slightest hint of the moon broke through the dense cloud cover. Within their cabin, lanterns pierced the blackness, where Bridgett and Desiree fought to stay upright against the pitching and yawing. The timbers creaked and moaned, as if they would be torn asunder and the combination of elements caused Bridgett to become dizzy and nauseated and she crouched upon her bunk, leaning against the wall. Her face was white and tense as she tried desperately to keep the room in proper focus. Desiree also had no choice but to sit upon her bed, where it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay astride, as the ship was tossed like a leaf upon the raging sea.

With his hair wildly mussed and soaking wet and his leather clothing dripping puddles upon the wooden floor, Ham entered, carrying a tray bearing their evening fare. Desiree made her way to the table and seated herself, eyeing the unappetizing contents. Salt pork and hard rolls; obviously the cook was unable to do more with the intense storm raging.

“Ladies I am afraid this meager fare will have to do for now, until the storm abates.” Ham confirmed as he wiped droplets of water from his face and with a smile, he turned to go.

Bridgett joined Desiree and the two grabbed the tray to keep it from slipping off the table as the ship tilted sharply.

“Ham are we in danger? Is this storm unusual?” Desiree asked.

Ham stopped at the door, turning back to face them. He slapped at his wet clothing with a wide grin, “No not unusual and don’t fret, it’s well in hand. We have weathered far worse than this! At least it is spring! Storms on the Atlantic in winter, now
those
are a seaman’s nightmare. This—” he held his arms out, with eyes upturned as if looking into the angry sky, “This is but a bit of fun. A welcome break in the monotony, don’t you think?” he chuckled at their open-mouthed surprise, “Best get back ladies. Enjoy your meal. I regret it couldn’t be more.” He stomped out, closing the door firmly behind him.

“He acts as though anxious to get back to a party.” Bridgett observed with a puzzled frown.

Desiree nibbled at a hard roll, “Well at least he seems at ease with the situation. I’m sure we have nothing to fear.” She said with conviction and then just as she uttered the words, the ship bucked, nearly tossing her from her chair to the tilting floor.

***

It was well into the night when Desiree awoke, unable to find reason for her waking. The ship moaned about her but she realized it was a bit calmer—the motion more even and the driving rain against the window had abated. She sat up, still fully clothed, and she felt refreshed although it was hours yet until dawn. Footsteps sounded in the hall and she moved quickly to the door, opening it abruptly.

Stephen stopped, turning back and frowning at Desiree, who leaned out the door with an impish grin.

“Hello Captain.” She sighed happily.

“What the devil are you doing up?” he whispered, unbuttoning his coat, while walking back to her, “Do you know how late it is?”

In the soft light from a single lantern swinging in the hall, Desiree saw his eyes were darkly circled and reddened from strain and water. His hair was in dark curls, gleaming with moisture and a day’s growth of beard shadowed his jaw. “You look exhausted, have you been at the helm this whole time?”

“Aye.” Stephen answered, rubbing wearily across his burning eyes.

“Is the storm over then?”

“We are going to have rough seas for a day or two but for the most part.” He nodded, leaning against the wall across from her; resting his back which was weary from hours of strain at the helm, “But tell me—what are you doing up? Couldn’t you sleep with the storm?”

“As a matter of fact, it didn’t bother me in the least. The calming of the sea brought me awake. Now I fear I am up for the night!” she confessed with a laugh.

Stephen chuckled with a shake of his head, “Well—you had better go back and try to sleep, for I have no intention of standing here and entertaining you luv—as much as I would like to.”

He pushed off the wall and standing before her with a gentle smile, reached out and touched her face with his hand, his thumb caressing her chin. He leaned forward and very gently kissed the corner of her mouth. “Good night Desiree.”

He walked off around the corner, his boots squeaking with a good measure of water sloshing within and Desiree watched him until he rounded the corner, then she closed the door, returning to her narrow bed. She relaxed with a heavy sigh, forcing her eyes shut but they opened once more and she looked about the blackness for something to focus on. Unable to discern any object, her gaze wandered to the small slit of light under the door and she watched it flash brighter and weaker with the movement of the lantern.

She had been hoping to see Stephen all through the long day and now that she had seen him for a brief moment, she was left wanting for him. She never seemed to grow tired of his presence, no matter how much time was spent in his company. Even as much as she had always cared for her friends at home, she had never,
ever
, yearned for their presence. She would go weeks at a time without seeing them and be unconcerned. So here she was, with this man, day after day and there was no reason for the want of his nearness.

Perhaps it was the boredom of the long voyage but then again, perhaps not. There
was
the slight fluttering of her heart when she would touch him or be touched by him. Such as the innocent kiss he had just bestowed upon her. Even to look up and find his eyes upon her as he would be going about his duties—a warm glow, transcending casual eye contact would fill her.

She had never been in love, not an inkling of what love felt like. She had loved many men in her life—had had an abundance of affectionate embraces, chaste kisses—this was not new to her; but never had her breath come to a trembling halt at a mere glance. Never had a touch set her heart to racing, nor had a kiss made her yearn for something more. Something she couldn’t even name or understand.

What would Rene’ or the others think of this Captain Colter as a possible suitor, she wondered? They had never, to date, approved of a single man as her mate. They always had a bit of lewd information on their character or would doubt their sincerity and their motives. It had been a thorn in her father’s side for some time. Although he had mellowed his stance on arranged marriages and had promised her the choice would be hers when she felt inclined to choose, he did not appreciate her friends dissuading her from possible suitors.

Once at a ball in Paris, she had been disenchanted with a very wealthy young son of a Baron, by Honore’; he insisting that the man had a deplorable roving eye and had most of the elegant courtesans of Paris as his companions. She had relayed this bit of information to her father upon their return to their rooms after the ball and as she had mounted the stairs to her suite, he had bellowed so loud that the crystal chandelier in the main hall fairly shook.

“Honore’ said such—eh? Well blast it then, why doesn’t he or one of those other so perfect young bucks stop dawdling and request your hand themselves?”

She had giggled at his ire, shaking her head as she continued up the steps, “Papa they are only looking out for my welfare.”

“Ha!” had been his reply.

Her mind began wandering now, down whimsical paths—imaging attending balls in Paris, with all the elite of French aristocracy. She would enter on the arm of her dashing sea captain and he would hold her in his strong embrace and they would float about the room to the music of the Royal Symphony playing softly in accompaniment. She could imagine sitting amid the wildflowers in the lush meadows on the upper plateau of her estate, with Stephen at her side, speaking softly their innermost thoughts or he reading her prose.

As her eyes closed, all of the sudden too heavy to remain open, her imaginings changed to the ridiculous and the obscure. He as a gallant knight on horseback, coming to her rescue from some menace with sword drawn; then holding her within his arms before him on his white charger, as he carried her to safety. He would take her hand and pledge his love to her. He would kiss her gently and Desiree drifted off to sleep—carried away by her romantic dreams.

Chapter Thirteen

Soft lamplight cast shadows about the cabin and the smell of scented soap permeated the room. Desiree reclined against the side of a round, makeshift tub, which until their arrival had been a cask. But the contents had been removed and the cask sawed in half, as a gift from the crew to the women.

For the men, bathing was a simple matter of dumping cold seawater over their bodies, washing and rinsing, right on deck; at which times, the ladies were asked to remain below. Desiree would listen to the whoops and hollers as the chill water doused them and would feel very thankful for this small tub.

Although the tub was small, with Desiree’s form draped across its expanse, it seemed extremely large. She languished in the heavenly feeling, for bathing usually consisted of a washstand and sea water which did much in the way of cleansing but left much to be desired as far as comfort. On this occasion the water was fresh; thanks to Ham and the barrels he had placed upon deck; that had reaped the harvest of a morning shower.

By the time Desiree dragged herself grudgingly from the exhilarating liquid, the sky had grown dark. Reaching beside the tub for a towel and wrapping it about her body, she stepped over the side, patting herself dry.

“Oh that felt wonderful! Shall I have warm water added for you?” she asked, patting an arm dry.

“Not this evening dear, I fear I may be coming down with a cold. I am a bit under the weather.” Bridgett replied. She sat at the table near a lamp with a book open upon her lap.

“Are you feeling terribly?” Desiree asked with concern, touching her cool hand to Bridgett’s brow and detecting slight warmth.

“I shall be fine—just a touch achy and tired. I am sure a good nights rest will do me wonders.”

“You won’t be feeling up to dining with the Captain, I take it?”

“I think not. I will turn in early I believe.” Bridgett sighed with a weary smile.

“I shall see about having something sent in for us.” Desiree offered.

“No nothing for me. I simply have no appetite.”

Having bathed, Desiree felt too energetic to simply don her nightclothes and retire for the evening. She wanted to see Stephen and she wanted conversation.

“Bridgett—would you mind terribly if I were to dine with the Captain?” she ventured hesitantly, while she opened the armoire to select a gown. Her mind was already set.

“My dear, that would be most improper; yourself in a man's quarters—unchaperoned! I think it would be best if you stay in for the evening.” Bridgett firmly suggested.

“Oh Bridgett, you can not be serious! Stephen is my friend. I have nothing to fear from the good Captain.” She giggled in amusement at the absurdity of it.

In her mind, the man she had first met so long ago on the deck of this very ship, no longer existed. It was as if it had been a fluke that he had behaved so badly. The reality of anything unsavory happening was beyond her comprehension.

But Bridgett recognized the hungry look she had glimpsed in his eyes when he was unaware of her observance. Although he was a gentleman, to be sure, he was a lusty man and Bridgett could guess that after the long voyage, his baser needs were coming dangerously close to the surface. It was the way with all men of the sea, out for months at a time. But this situation held an added danger because he wanted Desiree and Desiree trusted him. Bridgett could not shake the likening of Desiree to a small rabbit, unknowingly about to be caught in a snare.

“Desiree I can not forbid you dining with the captain, of course. I simply ask that you reconsider. It is not proper.” She stressed.

“Bridgett—you rest and do not worry yourself. I will be fine—truly!” Desiree said brightly.

She had dressed as they spoke, in a gown of deep burgundy satin, trimmed about the bodice with glass beadwork. She pulled her gleaming black hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck held with a single comb and turned her back to Bridgett, for her assistance with the laces of her gown. Then with a light kiss upon the older woman’s pensive brow, she slipped on her shoes and scampered out of the room.

***

Stephen Colter sat at his desk with a strong drink of whiskey in his hand and his chair turned toward the window, staring out at the darkening sky. The ladies would be arriving soon he mused to himself. He had bathed and dressed for dinner in a brown velvet suit coat. Gold threading embellished the waistcoat over a cream shirt and stock. The knee breeches were tailored, with gold piping along the outer seams. His brown leather boots were buffed to a shiny luster. As always—these dinners were handled with a touch of decorum.