Sea Change (29 page)

She chuckled and his heart lifted. This was the Charley he wanted, the one who laughed with him and appreciated his bad jokes, not the one who condemned him with her cold glances. But being morally sure was part of his Charley as well, the same core of dedication and resolve that drove her to treat every patient, every person, like he was deserving of her best efforts.

And he loved her for it.

"David? Why did you stop?"

"Forgive me, Charley, I was lost in thought for a minute."

He turned her back so she was facing him, and he stroked his soapy hands down her torso, loving her with his hands because he wasn't yet ready to say the words.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered.

"I know I am not pretty. You do not need to offer me false coin, Davy."

"You are correct. You are not pretty."

She looked away, in pain, and in resignation. David put his hand on her chin and brought her gaze back to his, forcing her to see the truth in his eyes as well as hear it in his words.

"You are not pretty. Pretty is a china figurine on a shelf. Pretty fades and cracks and withers away. You are
beautiful
, Charley Alcott. Your beauty flows out from you like honey from a comb, every time you comfort a wounded man, every time you heal a pain. You are beautiful here," he kissed her forehead, "and here," he said, kissing her graceful neck, "and especially inside here," he finished, putting his hand on her breastbone.

"You will always be beautiful, Charley, when pretty is only a memory, you will be beautiful because of who you are."

"If I have any beauty to speak of, it is because I see it reflected in your eyes, David." She looked up at him, her own eyes dark and wide in the shaded pool. He picked her up and carried her from the water, placing her on the blanket spread on the ground.

"Let me prove it to you, Charley. Let me show you how beautiful you are."

A frown creased between her eyes, but he put his finger over the spot and eased the lines out.

"You are thinking again, Charley. Today, we are in paradise, away from the war and our worries. Let me show you what paradise truly is."

Now that he knew Charley was a woman, David could not understand how he'd been so blind before. She wasn't pretty and dainty like others he'd known, but she was womanly in all the ways that counted. The curve of her cheek, her blessedly unbound breasts, why, he'd even thought she had a fine arse when he thought she was a lad! Now it tempted him every day in those trousers she wore, drawing attention to the length of her legs and how they felt wrapped around him.

Today she was all woman, and every woman, and the only woman he wanted. He showed her, as he promised, loving her with all of the skill he possessed. She responded with a natural sensuality that still thrilled him. There was nothing studied or artificial in her responses because that kind of falseness went against her nature.

Funny, to be thinking of the honest core of someone who every day was dressed in a lie.

"What is so amusing?" she whispered.

"Us," he said, leaning back over her mouth to give her a soft kiss. She opened beneath him like a scented banquet, drawing him in deeper. He knew he should say the words in his heart, the words she wanted to hear, but that would have to wait. He owed her real answers and a real future, and that was something he couldn't offer her, not yet.

But he could offer himself. He put his hand on her breast, so delicate and finely formed, a tracery of blue showing through the skin, the small nipple standing up like a ripe raspberry.

"Perfect," he murmured, as much to himself as to her. "You are a perfect feast, Charley Alcott."

She smiled up at him, tentatively, and he knew she still did not believe she was beautiful, that she was everything he wanted in a woman. He would have to prove it to her. If he had his way he would spend the rest of his life proving it to her, but he knew he might only have this afternoon, and this shaded glen.

He put his mouth on her and licked her, and she threaded her fingers though his hair, pulling closer, asking him wordlessly to feast upon her. She stirred his senses, the sight of her in the sunlight sifting through the trees, the sounds she made as he used his mouth and his tongue and his teeth to show her, to prove to her that she was as beautiful as he claimed.

But she surprised him when he moved up to enter her. Charley rolled them over so that she was on top, and a shaft of sunlight glinted off her hair as she positioned herself above him.

"I want to see you, Handsome Davy," she whispered, lowering herself atop him. "
You
are so beautiful. I want to see the sunlight on you, and I want to feel you inside me, like this."

Her words thrilled him, and made him swell inside her. Charley was in control now, and he was happy to let her play the commander. He followed her orders faithfully, even when they were only a sigh in his ear or a tightening of her muscles, and he held onto her for as long as he could, loving her as best he was able.

Until the words could come from him, it was all he could do.

"Is it just me, or is it cooler today than it was yesterday?"

"Perhaps. It is February, after all," Captain Fletcher said, scanning the horizon. The tension on his face threw the lines around his eyes and the line of his jaw into harsh relief. She tried to imagine what was running through his mind. Was he thinking about the British navy? The family and the girl that awaited him in Baltimore?

Was he thinking about her?

Charley'd walked in on him in his cabin last evening, as David sat there studying his miniature of Miss Dixon. Charley said nothing, but instead of putting it back on the shelf, David put it inside his desk. Then he'd used those strong hands and that skilled mouth to once again make her forget their destination, at least for a few hours.

"Do we have enough water to get to Baltimore?"

"We should clear Cuba tomorrow and once we're through the Florida Straits we will stop at Key Marquez to re-provision, then move up the coast to St. Marys--"

"A sail, Captain, off the stern!"

The men on deck turned to look where Ives spotted the ship. David pulled out his spyglass and studied the ship following them, then ran up the rigging next to Ives for a better look. Charley shaded her eyes but could tell nothing except for a blur on the water.

"Mr. Bryant! Sound to quarters! It is England!"

David flew down the rigging, still barking out orders. The men hurried to their posts, and Charley stood, paralyzed. The Royal Navy had found them.

"Dr. Alcott! Come with me!"

David was already in motion and Charley blindly followed him into the dark as men shoved past her with no word of apology, their faces grim and focused. Charley was walking past the captain's cabin to sick bay when she was grabbed and pulled into the cabin and into David's arms, his mouth seeking hers in the dimness.

Charley threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, tasting him, absorbing him into her soul.

"This is bad, isn't it?" she said when they broke apart.

"I won't lie to you Charley. It's a frigate. The
Caeneus.
"

Charley gasped. She remembered the Cannies's gunnery practice, the men moving together like a finely tuned machine. The Americans could do a great deal of harm with their twelve-pounders, but the British frigate carried more iron with a longer range, and a carronade that could tear a ship apart at close quarters.

"You've done battle with the
Caeneus
before?"

"I've
outrun
the
Caeneus
before. Captain Doyle is no fool, and he doesn't take defeat well. He will be burning to take the
Fancy
after we showed him our tail last time."

"You will fight, won't you?"

"If I must. I have come too far for us to risk capture now." He framed her face with his hands. "Have faith in me, Charley, and we will see this through."

Charley looked up at him through the clouded lens of eyes awash in tears. But they had their duty, the captain to his ship, the doctor to the men. She pulled his head down for one last kiss to savor, and store up and remember.

Duty. It always came down to duty. Just for once she wished she knew nothing of medicine or death or dismemberment, and she could be an ordinary girl thinking about frocks and dancing.

But then she wouldn't be Charley Alcott, and her heart would never have been captured by Black Davy Fletcher.

He smiled tenderly down at her, and rubbed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

"I will be with you after this is done, Charley Alcott." The smile faded from his face as he studied her. "Have your gear ready, just in case we have to leave the
Fancy.
"

"Will it come to that?" She knew it was a foolish question as soon as the words left her lips, but what else could she say? Right now, with the sound of the men running up on deck, the commands being shouted out by Mr. Bryant, all she could cling to was hope and dreams.

"Being prepared is what life at sea is all about, Doctor."

Charley turned and reached for the door latch, then paused, looking over her shoulder at him one last time.

"I will see you soon, Captain. When you have won your victory."

David came over to her and put his hands on her slim shoulders and rested his forehead against hers.

He whispered something, then brushed past her out the door. Charley stood there, glued to the deck.

I love you, Charley Alcott.

But Black Davy was gone into the fight, and Charley Alcott was alone.

One expects that once preparations have begun for a battle the action happens quickly, but Charley knew by now that would not be the case. Sea battles were more about who had the wind, and maneuvering one's ship into the best position to flee or fight.

She lit another lantern as the sun moved toward the horizon, checked her supplies one more time, and looked at her satchel sitting on her desk, containing her journals, Dr. Murray's copy of Woodall and her few personal items. There was so little she owned. Whatever she had to offer someone was contained here, Charley thought, staring down at her hands. In her hands, and in her mind, and most of all, in her heart. She couldn't give David Fletcher family connections or wealth, but she could give him her heart.

When this was over, she would tell him what she should have told him long ago. That he would always be the pirate who captured her heart, who owned her love no matter what.

Charley brushed her hair back from her forehead and straightened her back, pulling her waistcoat down. As she exited sick bay to see if she could find something to eat she saw Mr. Lewis, leaning against a bulkhead, his face white.

"Mr. Lewis? Are you ill?"

"No, Doctor. The Captain said I should assist you, as I did last time." He shuddered. "I don't know if I can do that again."

"Of course you can," Charley said sternly. "You are a capable assistant when I need you to be one. Thinking about it now has your nerves on edge, but I assure you, when the action starts you will rise to the occasion."

"Is it that way for you, Doctor?"

"Every single time, Mr. Lewis. That never changes. Now, do you know where I can get something to eat?"

He was about to reply when the boom of a gun across the water startled them both. Mr. Lewis looked at her.

"It has started, Doctor. The British have caught up with us."

Charley swallowed her fear. "I have faith in Captain Fletcher, Mr. Lewis. The day is not yet over."

The sound of the frigate's guns again coming to bear on the American vessel mocked her words as the
Fancy
was struck by a blow to starboard. Charley braced herself against the bulkhead and heard the shouts from above.

"Come, Mr. Lewis. It is time for us to take our stations."

"Aye, Doctor," Lewis said, wiping his damp forehead.

They entered sick bay just ahead of the sailors who brought down Mr. Bryant, a large sliver of wood impaling his upper arm.

"Bind this up fast, Doctor. I'm needed above," he said through gritted teeth.

Charley didn't argue with him but with Lewis's assistance cut through the coat and removed the foreign object, cleaning the wound and knowing he'd ignore her advice not to use his wounded arm for fear of worsening the injury. There was too much to be done and Mr. Bryant was rushing out the door with the ends of his bandage still fluttering from where Charley's sure fingers tied them off.

The
Fancy's
guns returned fire now. Charley was used to working with the rhythm of her own ship's guns, but an answering broadside from the
Caeneus
exploded into the
Fancy
, hurling Charley to the deck. She lay there, dazed, coughing in the dust and smoke. When she pushed herself to her knees the deck was tilted at an odd angle and she held onto her table to pull herself to her feet. A sailor with a burned hand was helping Lewis to his own feet, blood from a cut across the back of Lewis's torn scalp pouring down his neck.

Through the ringing in her ears Charley heard an axe pounding at the sick bay door, and Mr. Bryant calling out, "Doctor, are you in there?"

She winced as she moved her arm to push her hair out of her eyes.

"What has happened, Mr. Bryant?" she yelled back.

"We're taking on water, Doctor, and we're going to the boats." He finished as the sailors broke the door open, and then Charley slung her satchel over her neck and gave Mr. Lewis a cloth to hold to his head to stanch the bleeding. She helped him out the tilted doorway, and was pulled through a moment later into the passageway by the sailors. Charley wanted to look over her shoulder at the room where she'd experienced so much joy and achievement and sorrow, but there was no time as she was hustled up the ladder.

Strong hands, hands she knew so well, grabbed her and pulled her up to the deck, and into his arms.

"Charley. My darling girl, I thought I'd lost you."

David was covered with soot and blood trickled down his arm. His face was grim and drawn in the red light. Smoke billowed across the deck of the
Fancy
, fires lighting the sunset as the injured vessel listed, its mainmast gone, a tangle of rigging and injured men on the deck. Charley's instinct was to go to the injured, but David gripped her arm tight.