The Captain's Caress (2 page)

“Lord ‘a mercy, milady, to think I never knew you’d arrived. And me trying to make something out of that cabin, which I never will because anybody knows you can’t make silk out of sack cloth.” She glared at Bonner.

“I’m sure you’ve done quite well,” Summer replied, checking an overwhelming desire to throw herself into the arms of this big-hearted woman. “The captain has offered to provide us with anything we need. Can you give him a list?”

“A list is no trouble, but finding a way to get the two of us settled in that little bitty hole is more than I can do.” She turned to the irate captain. “You can begin by finding a lantern that gives off more light than smoke, a chair without the canes broken, a bowl and pitcher, a table, and a wardrobe.”

“Do you think to take over the whole ship?” Bonner asked angrily.

“It’s paid for, so we might as well have the run of it; your nasty sailors do. And don’t go disappearing before I’ve had my say, or you’ll not find as much money waiting for you at the other end as you supposed.”

“I always heard the Scots were tight-fisted.”

“Don’t think to insult the earl by saying he’s fool enough to pay for more than he gets. Now you come along with me, milady, and I’ll settle you in for a nice rest before this hateful tub starts to rocking fit to make you queasy. If you think it’s a penance now, that’s nothing to what it’s like at sea.”

Summer was all too ready to put herself into the capable hands of this dauntless woman who, needing only the presence of her mistress to buttress her commands, proceeded to spare neither captain nor crew. Before they set sail, Captain Bonner was thinking that a cargo of Spanish bulls might have been preferable to these two women.

“My name’s Bridgit Barlow,” the spritely lady announced to Summer as she closed the cabin door in Bonner’s scowling face. “I’m not rightly a lady’s maid, I’m a housekeeper by training, but I’ll see you’re cared for until we get to Scotland and I can tend to you proper.”

Able to restrain herself no longer, Summer sank down onto the bed with a sob. Instantly Bridgit was beside her, gathering her into her arms and rocking her gently.

“Now, now, there’s no call to cry,” she said soothingly, patting Summer’s head all the while. “I know it’s hard to leave those you love, but we all have to leave our parents when we marry.” When Summer cried even harder, she told her, “Go ahead and get it out of your system if it’ll make you feel better. But when you’ve dried your eyes you’ll see what a wonderful future awaits you. It’s not every girl that’s able to marry a rich lord in a fret to have her with him. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees how pretty you are. You’ll soon have half the country at your feet. But don’t worry, I’ll be there to see that you aren’t bothered too much. After all, even a husband will get underfoot if you let him.”

Chapter 2

The man stood motionless and alone at the bow of the ship as she dipped and rose, cutting through the waves of the placid Atlantic with rhythmic ease. His tall, muscular frame was silhouetted against the morning sky, and cool breezes tossed his sun-bleached hair about and made his loosely tied shirt billow behind him like the sails of his ship. Trousers, short and threadbare, clung tightly to his powerful thighs, while his bare feet and legs glowed like burnished copper in the still-cool sun. There was about him a tautness, a sense of contained power that made him appear, even at rest, about to explode with vital energy. The powerful ship beneath him seemed but an extension of himself.

All around him Nature did her best to draw his thoughts from the dark memories that troubled him. The sky, arched over limitless horizons, was the azure blue immortalized by poets, its enormous expanse broken by billowing clouds that rose like gigantic mountains disdaining earthly foundations. Huge sea birds, not yet hungry enough to dive, hovered with weightless ease on outstretched wings as they rode the powerful Atlantic drafts. A school of fish scattered before the ship as she knifed through the water, and the dolphin that had followed the large craft for days in search of food, darted playfully through the swells leaving all competition in their wake. The outstretched sails were filled by the brisk wind that bore the ship on her way. She was a pirate ship, speedy and efficiently designed.

There was no thought of attack that day, so the decks of the
Windswept
were quiet. She was heading for home after long months at sea, her hold bursting with prizes taken from less swift vessels. Bolts of priceless silks and velvets were piled high in the hold. Indeed, every available space was so tightly packed with rare woods, thick furs, ingots of copper ore, and casks of wine that the crew was forced to sleep in shifts. Now, as the early afternoon sun warmed the decks, some of the men were enjoying a siesta.

The lone sentry paused in his leisurely scanning of the horizon, his eyes focused on a tiny speck in the distance. He wondered whether to notify the captain immediately or to wait until he could identify the craft’s flag, but the sounds of vigorous steps on the wooden deck caused him to look up in time to see his captain heading toward him with ground-devouring strides.

“You’d better keep a sharp eye out,” Captain Brent Douglas said, stepping over a slumbering sailor. “We’ll need lots of time to wake these sleeping beauties.” A volley of guttural snores reverberated over the deck.

“They don’t look very lively,” Bates agreed, trying to smile despite the nervous excitement that filled him whenever the captain addressed him. “There’s something on the starboard side, sir, but she’s too far away to see more than the sails.”

Brent’s keen eyes peered into the bright sunshine. “She doesn’t look like a large ship, but we should be able to tell something with the glass in half an hour.” Brent turned away, then wheeled back to study the tiny dot once more, unable to shake the feeling that the distant craft was no ordinary vessel straying across his path. He tried to ignore the unwelcome sense of foreboding, but it wouldn’t go away and that angered him. He had risen to his present position because of a cool head and careful judgment, not imagination and guesswork. “We don’t have room for anything else unless we store it in my cabin,” he said, showing his perturbation. “Keep your eye on her, but we’ll let her pass to the north.”

“Yes, sir.” Bates was relieved to learn that they wouldn’t be taking another ship. He was anxious to get to Havana and start spending his share of the profits.

“I’ll send Smith to check on her later,” Brent said. After leaving the quarter-deck, he stopped to talk with a seaman indulging in a leisurely stretch, but Bates noticed that he glanced out to sea several times before disappearing below.

“I wonder what’s bothering the captain,” Bates commented, as much to himself as to the mate who had wandered up to join him. “It’s not like him not to know his own mind.”

“Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to pack more into the hold,” suggested his friend. “The captain isn’t greedy, but he doesn’t make a habit of passing ships by.”

“It’s not that,” Bates mused after a pause.

“Why don’t you ask him if it worries you so much?”

“And get my head snapped off for my pains?” Bates demanded of his grinning companion. “I’m not such a fool. If you’re so brave, Sam, why don’t
you
ask him what he thinks about when he goes all glassy-eyed and starts staring out to sea, looking like he’s about to commit murder.”

“Likely it’d be me that was murdered if I was to do a tomfool thing like that,” Sam replied with a shiver.

“Then see you don’t go giving advice you don’t follow yourself,” admonished Bates.

Thirty minutes later the captain, coated, booted, and armed with sword and pistol, gazed wordlessly at the approaching ship through a powerful telescope. “What can you make out?” he asked, handing the spyglass to Bates.

Whatever is bothering the captain, Bates thought as he lifted the glass to his eye, is bothering him real bad. He examined the ship briefly. “She looks like a Scottish merchant vessel. Probably out of Edinburgh, and carrying a light load of tar and shingles.” He handed the glass back to Brent who studied the ship carefully once again.

“It’s probably just as you say, but we’re going to take her nevertheless. Everyone needs tar and shingles.” Once the decision was made, uncharacteristic languor fell from Captain Douglas like a discarded cloak. “Smith!” he bellowed at an extremely thin man of neat appearance who came at a run. “Get those lazy dogs on their feet. We’ll never capture that ship if we wait for an invitation.”

“We’re wallowing about like a sea cow as it is, sir. Are you meaning to tow her into Havana behind us?” Only Smith was privileged to question the captain’s orders.

“Are you hoping I’ll let you sail her yourself so you can show me up?” Brent’s eyes twinkled at Smith’s energetic denial, and he then declared, “We’ll only take the best of what they have. You may need to pack things a little tighter, but the men can double up.”

“They’ve already doubled up,” Smith reminded him as a few brave souls groaned aloud.

“Then let them double up again,” Brent roared unsympathetically. “They’ll have more than enough room when we reach Havana.” He looked about him at his still-drowsy crew. “With all the sleep they get on deck, you wouldn’t think they’d have any need of a bunk.” Some of the younger hands fidgeted nervously, but the veterans merely grinned. “Make sure they’re wide-awake, or we’ll be the ones getting a dunking in the Atlantic. Take the usual precautions, but let’s hope they decide not to put up much of a fight. Now turn to!” he shouted as he walked away.

At the sound of his booming voice, men appeared as if by magic. They went about their preparations with practiced efficiency, each sailor knowing exactly what was expected of him. Captain Douglas wouldn’t sail with a man who had to be driven to his work; more than one reluctant seaman had found himself cast adrift or left to the mercies of a victimized ship’s crew.

The captain remained on deck throughout the wait. From time to time he used the glass to study the approaching ship, more out of habit than from necessity. Her disorganized crew’s futile attempts to prepare some kind of defense were almost comic, but Brent’s mood was solemn. His attitude communicated itself to his crew and they went about their work without the noisy shouts of encouragement that usually accompanied their battle preparations. A warning shot fired across the bow of the other vessel was not returned, and the men of the
Windswept
prepared to board without opposition.

“They ought to show some kind of fight,” Smith said in disgust.

“Stop moaning. There’ll be enough fights the next time out to satisfy even your bloodthirsty soul.”

“Is there going to be another voyage?” Smith asked with deceptive casualness. “Now that you’ve got that plantation, I wondered if you meant to settle down.”

“A planter’s life is too quiet for a man like me.”

“You won’t have any trouble finding a wife,” Smith ventured tentatively, not meeting his friend’s eye. “Once it gets about you’re thinking of getting married, they’ll come at you so thick you’ll need me to sort them out.”

“Not to marry a condemned murderer.” Brent spoke with studied indifference, but his gaze turned steely.

“You never murdered anybody, sir.”

“Unfortunately, not everyone has your faith in me,” Brent responded. He gathered up his pistol and buckled on his sword. “I’ll probably roam the seas forever like the Flying Dutchman.”

“But his curse was lifted when he found a girl who’d be faithful to him.”

“Well I’ll be damned, Smith. I never knew you went in for reading old stuff like that.”

“You know I’m more comfortable with my figures,” Smith replied diffidently. “My old mother used to tell the little ones stories and the Dutchman was her favorite, probably because of my dad. He did all the roaming while she took care of us and waited for him to come home.” He picked up his weapons. “We never did find out what became of him.”

“It looks like neither of our mothers got much good from the sea. I don’t suppose a wife of mine would like it any better. Let’s go relieve this captain of his cargo,” Brent said, dismissing the subject of his future. “Then he can finish his trip with an easy mind.”

Smith wondered what Brent Douglas really
did
think. One never knew, but with his black moods becoming more frequent, he was fixing to do something, even if he didn’t know it.

The
Sea Otter’s
crew was only vaguely aware of Captain Douglas’s reputation, but the sight of his towering six-foot-four frame striding about on deck with an unmistakable air of command had driven any thought of resistance from their minds.

Smith broke off a rapid conversation with the
Sea Otter’s
first mate, a worried crease between his eyes. A quick conference with the
Sea Otter’s
captain did nothing to lighten his expression. He schooled his features to their accustomed passivity as he turned to Brent, but his eyes were wary.

“Williams has gone over the cargo lists with their people and it seems that about all they’re carrying is a woman.”

“Why would anybody be fool enough to waste a whole ship on one woman?” Brent demanded, angered to find his efforts wasted. “Who is this invaluable female?”

“The Countess of Heatherstone.” Whatever response Smith may have been expecting, he was astonished to see his captain go deathly pale under his tan.