Beholden

by Bronwyn Williams

  “Naw, we’re doin’ real good. You take care of the little missy. Way that young’un eats, she’ll be bad off.”

  They talked for a minute more, and then Galen left. Katy hadn’t moved. Her right hand was curled half open on the pillow beside her head. He angled it toward the light and studied it.

  Still raw. It was going to be a problem for the next few days, but at least there were no red streaks running up her arm.

  She didn’t stir, so he held onto her hand a few minutes longer. Poor baby, she was exhausted. He was fairly certain she’d had no more than a couple of biscuits and a few cups of tea in the past twenty-four hours. It wasn’t enough to sustain any woman who worked as hard as she did, but in this case, it had spared her a lot of misery.

  He glanced at the clock, then checked the weather outside. Another day on the horizon. Maybe rain, he couldn’t be certain. For once, his bones didn’t ache—either that or he was so damned tired another ache or two went unnoticed.

  There were papers on his deck that needed his attention. There were clothes draped over bedposts and chair backs—a few more on the floor. He was inclined to be tidy, possibly a relic of his years at sea. A place for everything and everything in its place, that was the seaman’s credo.

  Or was it one of Ila’s sayings? Or his mother’s?

  At a time like this, who gave a damn? Not him. He was too tired. Too tired to do anything except shed the rest of his clothes, right down to his drawers, and crawl into bed.

  It was a wide bed. He remembered thinking just before his head hit the pillow that there was plenty of room for two people to sleep peacefully without disturbing one another.

  *

  Fever. Either that or hellfire was licking at his flesh. Heat and the constant drone of rain on the water, rain beating down on the canopy, rain pounding down on the overhead deck. . . .

  Galen opened his eyes one at a time. And discovered the source of the heat. It was curled around him like a serpent twined around the branch of an apple tree. With the same effect.

  Temptation. Full, throbbing arousal.

  Mere inches away, her lips were an open invitation. “Katy?” he murmured.

  “Mmmm.”

  She could hear him. That meant she was awake. That meant he wasn’t taking advantage of a sleeping woman. He moved his head only enough so that his lips brushed against hers. It wasn’t really a kiss. It was no more than the light tug of damp flesh against damp flesh.

  Her lips were parted. He thought she sighed. Angling his head for better contact, he went back for more, pressed his mouth against her slack lips, felt them stir and grow firm, and his hand moved to cup her cheek.

  Ah, Katy . . . what have you done to me?

  She tasted salty and sweet—a hint of tea. Something smoky and musky, laced with an intoxicating essence that was purely irresistible. Galen rolled over so that his upper body covered hers. When her arms came around his neck, he told himself she was fully aware of what was happening. The muffling sound of a driving rain shut out any guilt he might have felt. The unsought intimacy of waking up together on rumpled silk sheets in a room lit by a single lamp robbed him of any common sense he might once have possessed.

  There was no past, no future, only now. Only this.

  Her breasts were small but surprisingly firm. They fit perfectly in the hollow of his palms. Through whatever thin layers she still wore, he could feel her nipples harden and lift to meet him.

  With clumsy fingers, he finished unbuttoning her blouse and laid open the two sides. Still too many layers. He tugged at a shoulder strap, a narrow band of worn white cotton, but it refused to give way.

  “I want to see you, Katy,” he rasped. “All of you.”

  To see if she was as beautiful as the woman he’d dreamed of too many times. The woman in his dreams was small, her skin paler than ivory, paler than moonstones. Nipples like carnelian, and lower, past a waist so small he could span it easily—below the imperceptible swell of her belly—a nest as dark as midnight, hinting of unimaginable treasures, pleasures. . . .

  In his dreams, the woman never opened her eyes, but if she had, he knew what color he would see.

  His hand moved over her breast to her waist. His mouth left her lips to taste her throat, lingering on the pulse that throbbed in the hollow there. He explored the faint indentation of her navel, and felt his own taut flesh jerk in response.

  “Katy, are you sure? We won’t go any further unless you—”

  “Cap’n, suh, is you in there?”

  Galen came back down to earth with a solid, bone-jarring thud. Eyes closed, he took a deep, shuddering breath and began to swear silently, lethally, the words directed toward himself. Toward his own stupidity. His own damned, unbelievable selfishness.

  Katy opened those incredible green eyes. In the gray half light of dawn she looked dazed, disoriented.

  “It’s all right, darling, everything’s all right. Stay here, go back to sleep, I’ll handle it.”

  *

  Some forty-five minutes later, Katy stuffed the clothes she’d worn for the past two days into the valise at the foot of the bed. The dress she changed into was creased where it had been packed since yesterday.

  Yesterday? It seemed more like last week.

  At least she was clean from the skin out.

  “Katy, I’m hungry. Heather wants her breakfast.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you, I tried to be quiet.” She had bathed and changed her clothes in the darkness, with only the light of a single candle set on the floor where it wouldn’t shine in Tara’s eyes.

  “Could I have something to eat?”

  “A bit of broth, then. The hunger’s a good sign you’re mending, but you’re not ready for food yet.”

  “I hate broth. Couldn’t I have some gingerbread? Willy always has gingerbread, he knows I like it.”

  “Willy’s been sick, love. Everyone has.”

  Tara’s face crumpled. Katy could tell she was working herself up, and no good would come of it. She’d be sick all over again, and there would go their chance to slip away quietly, before Galen—before anyone could stop them.

  “Can I just have some bread and jam, then?”

  Reluctantly, Katy gave in. “I’ll go and see if I can find a bit of bread and milk, but if you’re well enough to eat solid food, then you’re well enough to get up and put on your clothes.” Thank goodness they hadn’t far to go.

  “I’m not that well,” Tara whined.

  Katy was having none of it. They’d be here forever if Tara had her way, and then Aster would rant and rail, and Galen would be forced to defend them. Or not . . .

  “The rain’s let up. If we hurry we can make it as far as Captain Jack’s boat before it starts again.”

  The note had come just in time. Katy didn’t know how he’d found out, but Jack Bellfort knew all about the sickness, who had it and who didn’t, and what had caused it. He could have seen the doctor coming and going. She didn’t know and didn’t care, as long as he never learned of Katy’s own private shame. Of what she’d done, or nearly done. What she’d wanted so desperately to do.

  Aye, and there was the shame of it all. Perhaps fifty years from now, when she was an old, old woman, she might be able to look at Galen and not remember the way it had felt to lie in his arms and feel his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. To want—

  “I want some coffee, too,” Tara said petulantly.

  “Shhh, you’ll wake the others. They’ve all been sick, even Aster. If she hears you, she’ll—”

  “I know, she’ll make us leave, but Captain Galen won’t let us go. He wants us to stay, Katy, I know he does. I saw—”

  “Tara Eleanor O’Sullivan!” Katy whispered sharply.

  “I’m sorry. I know I promised. I forgot. But, Katy, can I please at least have something to eat?”

  *

  “The hell you say. When did they leave?”

  Oscar shrugged. “Less’n an hour ago. She said to say good
-bye and thanks for everything.”

  “The hell she did!”

  “Cap’n, sir, is something wrong?”

  Galen paced, kicking aside a chair that got in his way. The note had been for Katy, delivered by one of the waterfront urchins. He’d tipped the boy, handed it over, and waited for her to tell him what it said.

  Instead of reading it right away, she’d looked at him so pointedly he’d mumbled something about checking on Tara and the others and started looking around for his shirt and trousers.

  He’d almost sooner have gone down to the crew’s quarters in his drawers as to have to scramble into his clothes while she sat there watching. Nakedness had never embarrassed him before, but there was something demeaning about getting dressed in front of a woman he’d nearly made love to, and hadn’t. Regardless of the reason, it felt too much like failure.

  “No, nothing’s wrong, son,” he said in belated response.

  Nothing except the fact that Katy had walked out and left without even giving him her directions. Nothing except that his leg hurt, and his head ached, and black wool was too damned hot when the mercury barely dipped into the eighties, even in the middle of the night, in the middle of a damned rain squall.

  *

  It was drizzling again, the wharf nearly deserted, by the time Katy, with Tara lagging after her, marched up the gangplank of the Albemarle Queen and plopped her valise on the trunk Oscar had carried aboard. He’d offered to take it inside, but he still looked a bit green and unsteady. Besides, she hadn’t known where to direct him.

  “Go on back and go to bed,” she told him. “I’m sure Captain Bellfort will send someone to help with the trunk.”

  She had more on her mind than finding a new home for her books. She couldn’t afford to be late for work again, and there was still Tara to be settled. If things hadn’t been so awkward, she could have left her with Ila instead of dumping her in the lap of strangers.

  “Do I have to go to work with you?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see.” It was the best she could do for now.

  “Captain Galen wouldn’t want me to get sick again.”

  “Don’t you dare think about getting sick again,” Katy said quickly, and then felt like gathering the child in her arms and keening her heart out. “We’ll find you a nice bed, and you can rest all day and play with Heather. There now, you’ll like that, won’t you?”

  “I’ in hungry “

  Katy was hungry, too, but there was nothing she could do about it. First she had to get Tara settled, and then she had to get herself to work. The good thing was, she would be far too busy to waste time thinking about what had happened last night.

  Had she really woken up in Galen’s bed? Woken up in his arms, with his mouth on hers, and his hands touching her body in ways no one had ever touched her before—ways she’d never even imagined?

  Or had she only dreamed it out of sheer longing?

  Hearing a low murmur of voices, she opened a door, poked her head inside, and looked about. Jeannie—Janie—what had been the name of the woman who had taken care of her cat scratches?

  Several boys wearing white aprons were arranging trays. One of them glanced up and said, “Ma’am? Did you want something?”

  “Captain Bellfort is expecting me. I’m Miss O’Sullivan, and this is Tara, my sister. If you’d kindly have someone collect our trunk and show us to our room, I’d be much obliged to you.”

  *

  Everything had gone like clockwork. Everyone had been lovely. Still, Katy worried. She couldn’t help it. Worry was second nature to her, after years of doing all the worrying for the entire O’Sullivan family. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. Would I lie to you?”

  Her eyes sought his, needing reassurance. Jack Bellfort had told her she wasn’t expected at work today, that he had arranged the day before with Inez Baggot for her to work three days a week, on the days she wouldn’t be singing. In exchange, Mrs. Baggot would get to make costumes for Katy and a school wardrobe for Tara.

  “But why are you doing all this? I don’t understand.”

  She hated her own suspicions, but she couldn’t help it. She’d heard too many tales on the way to America. Men didn’t do favors for women without expecting something in return.

  Not even Galen.

  “Would you believe my heart overflows with the milk of human kindness?”

  She studied the wicked twinkle in his fathomless eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “That I wouldn’t. You’re offering far too much in exchange for a lilter to entertain your guests four nights a week. I’m not worth it.”

  “That’s for me to say, isn’t it?”

  “Captain—”

  “Jack. Katy, don’t ever underestimate yourself. I know you’re not a trained singer, but your voice is true and clear and delightful. Besides, you’re a novelty. You can offer something we don’t often hear in this neck of the woods.”

  “The Gaelic, you mean.”

  He nodded. “That, too. But no matter what you’re singing, it’s the way you do it that makes it special.”

  “I’ll be terrified.”

  “You’ll do just fine. You’re going to have to teach Casey your tunes, but as he plays by ear, that shouldn’t pose much of a problem. A voice like yours doesn’t need a heavy backup.”

  They’d settled on a practice schedule that first day, one that wouldn’t interfere with the pianist’s regular duties. Then Jack had told her she’d be going into town for her first fitting after lunch.

  The next three days were a whirlwind of activity. A maid, hardly older than Tara herself, was assigned to look after the two of them, and to her amazement, Katy found herself living in the lap of luxury, with daily fittings and lovely sandwiches and tea for the asking, and a roomful of books she was welcome to borrow.

  There wasn’t a word from Galen. Not that she’d expected any. He could have asked after Tara’s health, though. Fie could have at least done that much. It wasn’t as though he was that far away. If she listened hard enough, she could catch a familiar voice now and then from someone aboard the Queen. A snatch of laughter. Jimmy the Sweep whistling as he went about his duties.

  She tried not to think about it, but twice in the darkest hours before dawn she awoke from a dream, feeling as if something incredibly valuable had slipped away before she could reach out and catch it.

  Her costumes were cotton, riot silk. Summery colors, with flounced overskirts and too many ruffles, but underneath all the trim, Mrs. Baggot had an excellent eye for line and color. It took only a few hours to make over the gowns once she got them back to her room. She was afraid Jack would object, but he didn’t.

  “You’re the one who’ll have to wear them. I want you comfortable. My sole aim is to create an image to go along with your repertoire.”

  Katy wasn’t entirely comfortable with being an image, much less one created by a man. For eight dollars a night, however, she would have buried herself in frills and furbelows. And the new kid slippers that went along with her new gowns were certainly far more comfortable than Ermaline’s high-heeled shoes with the paper in the toes.

  Although she hadn’t asked Katy to scrub any more floors, Mrs. Baggot couldn’t exactly be said to treat her with respect. When she timidly inquired about trying her hand at cutting from a pattern, she was told that it would hardly be worthwhile.

  “I don’t know what game Jack Bellfort’s playing this time, but it’s not like him to let his ladybirds out of the cage.”

  “Ladybirds? Is that something like a songbird?”

  “Humph,” was all the older woman said, but her eyes spoke volumes.

  So Katy continued to sort and put away, fetch and carry when customers came in to see the new fall fabrics and patterns, while Tara stayed on board the Belle and played checkers with Patsy the maid, and pestered the chef for scraps of cookie dough and bowls of cream for Heather.

  Katy rehearsed every afternoon at four, going o
ver songs she’d sung all her life, and telling Casey how they used to gather in first one home and then another, and sing the night away, while the men drank poteen and the women piled all the bairns into one bed, and how they danced and how her father was always the life of the party until he fell asleep.

  It was a tremendous relief to find out that her first performance was to be on a Sunday afternoon in the Ladies’ Parlor. She’d dreaded singing before an audience composed mostly of men. They would be cruising as far as Nags Head, putting in for an overnight, with guests from the hotel there coming aboard for an evening of music, dinner, and gambling.

  It was a relief, but still she was terrified.

  “I’ll forget every song I ever knew, that I will. There I’ll stand, with my mouth open, and not a note will come out.”

  “You’ll do just fine,” Jack assured her. He’d stopped by to hear her final rehearsal before they sailed. Several of the staff had wandered in. A few maids. Two waiters, and even a dealer or two.

  Casey smiled encouragingly. He struck a few chords, and she closed her eyes and launched into a familiar ballad about the tragedy of a broken heart and a jilted lover. By the time the session was over, the knots in her belly had miraculously dissolved. She had carefully avoided looking out at her small audience. Which was why she was totally unprepared, when she gathered her shawl and the books she’d selected to take back to her room after rehearsal, to glance up and find Galen studying her as if he’d never seen her before.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Are you certain you want to do this, Katy? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Of course it was too late. His gaze moved over her face, as if searching out all her secrets. Couldn’t he tell how much she’d missed him? How many hours she’d wasted thinking about him, dreaming about him?

  “I’m being paid eight dollars a night for singing. On the days when I work for Mrs. Baggot—”

  “Is this about money?” Anger tightened the planes of his face. “Because if that’s all it is, you don’t have to do it. Katy, I can—”