Hero Wanted

by Betina Krahn

  Rafe fell on him with fists and arms hardened by years of rowing. No amount of shifting or trying to block his blows was successful. Soon Murdoch lay slack, still being hammered by Rafe’s fury.

  Barclay finally pulled him off. “Townsend, stop! He’s out. He’s finished. You don’t want to kill him . . . yet.”

  Rafe fell backward on the sand, panting, bleeding from his mouth and a cut on his side. A quick inspection said it was more painful than serious. And suddenly Lauren was there, cradling his head on her lap and stroking his hair . . . telling him what an idiot he was and how he’d better never abandon her again to go fight and nearly get himself killed.

  Then she kissed him, fully and resoundingly, in front of God and everyone.

  Barclay and Fosse took charge of Murdoch, trussing him up like a Christmas goose and stowing him, along with his battered henchmen, beside some dry rocks.

  When Rafe made it to his feet, he looked at the men who’d caused Lauren and him such trouble and said, “We ought to bury them up to their necks in the sand . . . so they can watch the tide come in from a new angle.”

  Barclay chuckled darkly. “No. Digging holes is too much work. And lining them up and shooting them doesn’t seem quite sporting. I say we take ’em back to London and hand them over to Scotland Yard.”

  Rafe gave a grudging nod of agreement. “But I have a few questions to put to one of them first.”

  * * *

  Captain Stringer had stayed on the Clarion, so the shore party was led by newly promoted Second Mate Ben Fosse in company with Barclay Howard. A second boat arrived from the Clarion to help ferry the prisoners to the ship. Barclay climbed aboard with a gun at the ready and cautioned his charges to make no suspicious moves. From their behavior they seemed to believe he would shoot them on the spot. Before long, they were hauling the men aboard the venerable merchantman and introducing them to their new accommodations in the belly of the ship.

  * * *

  The Cormorant was strangely quiet as they climbed aboard. Effects of the battle were everywhere. There were holes in boards, bullet casings collected in the seams of the deck flooring, and ripped sails that hung limply, as if offering surrender. Crossing the tilted deck was hard enough, but when they tried to climb down the forward hatch, Lauren’s injured shoulder made it impossible to negotiate the canted ladder.

  She had to settle for sitting at the top of the hatch and calling to her little cellmate. “Jims Gardiner, come out. We’re here to take you home!”

  Rafe managed to climb around the canted interior deck avoiding objects that had slid and collected at the damaged starboard side of the hull or were caught by structural timbers. He called several times to Jims before he caught a sound and asked Lauren to help him listen. Jims’s voice sounded more weak than timid. Rafe made his way to the lower deck ladder and climbed down. Lauren worried until Rafe came out of the lowest deck with Jims hanging on his back. When they reached the ladder near Lauren the boy climbed the last few feet on his own and fell into her open arms with a sob.

  “I waited, miz, like ye said to.”

  “You certainly did, Jims Gardiner.” She hugged him tightly with her good arm, before setting him back to inspect him. “You’re the bravest, strongest boy I’ve ever known.” She tousled his hair and gave him a kiss on the cheek before looking at Rafe, who had climbed out beside them and now watched their reunion with a warmth that made Lauren’s heart glow.

  “I think Master Gardiner here deserves a reward for all his help,” Rafe said. “Something really special.”

  Jims looked at Rafe through still blackened eyes and smiled.

  As they searched the vessel they found not only the Clarion’s old cargo, they found one more survivor.

  Merrell Hampstead came staggering out of the aft hatch without his spectacles but with a huge bump on his head. He was overjoyed to find Lauren and the boy Jims safe. He directed them to the ship’s medicinal box, and before long Lauren’s shoulder was bandaged properly and she was given something that dulled the pain and made her more comfortable.

  Jims’s injuries were inspected and salved, then he was given some medicine that he swore tasted like horse piss. No one asked how he knew that, but he was soon given a piece of sugary peppermint from Murdoch’s personal stock to rid him of the taste.

  There were a few other tasks to complete before they returned to the ship. Rafe collected the satchel Murdoch had been so set on carrying with him. In it were records of transactions, sales, bank accounts . . . it would take days to comb through such records and make sense of what Consolidated’s agent was so determined to hide. Merrell Hampstead located the ledgers and documents Murdoch had stashed in his cabin and they inspected the cargo in the hold, finding crates from a variety of storehouses and vessels besides their own.

  They decided to build a fire and dry off before returning to the ship. Hampstead found some brandy to ward off the chill. Lauren was reunited with the petticoat she had loaned Jims and found her lady boots in the captain’s cabin. She wore those items and a blanket while her dress was drying. Rafe commandeered a shirt that must have belonged to Murdoch and decided it was clean enough to wear.

  Finding food and staying warm was enough to occupy them for a while. Once again in her own dress, Lauren spread the blanket on the sand and lay down for a much-needed nap. Young Jims curled up beside her, and Rafe found just enough room on the blanket to lie down beside her, too. They woke up to find Barclay standing nearby with his arms crossed, watching them.

  “Time to go, slug-a-beds. A coastal cutter came by and hailed Stringer. He told them who he was and they seemed downright thrilled to make his acquaintance. Apparently he’s every bit the legend you said he is. Anyway, he explained that the bark run aground is full of stolen cargo, and they’re dispatching some riders to watch the wreck and keep looters at bay. We’re heading back to London at first light.”

  Lauren looked at Rafe, who seemed to read her thoughts.

  “And go back to sleep on a cold deck or in a cabin that smells like wet dog and smoke?” Rafe shook his head. “We’ll stay here, thank you. You can pick us up in the morning.”

  Barclay’s laugh was downright insinuating. He looked to Hampstead, who picked up one of several pasteboard boxes, clearly eager to be on his way. Barclay helped him load Murdoch’s satchel and a dozen other boxes of books and papers. He came back to pick up the last box and beckoned to Jims.

  “Let’s go, boy.”

  Jims looked uneasy and Lauren put an arm around him.

  “He’ll stay with us tonight.”

  “That so?” Barclay said, looking to Rafe.

  Rafe just sighed and nodded.

  Barclay laughed all the way to the boat.

  * * *

  The next morning they brought Murdoch up to the deck for questioning, and according to him, he was duped into carrying untaxed, illegal cargo from various ports to London and from London to sundry west coast locations. They realized that—short of torture—they couldn’t make him incriminate himself. Fingering others, however, was totally within his criminal ethic and might prove even more valuable to them . . . starting with the names of Consolidated’s secretive owners.

  After some negotiating but few promises given, he spoke the name that was his ace card. All he had.

  “Creighton. Leddy Creighton. He’s the main man and the only one I ever saw or took orders from. He wasn’t around much. He left it up to me to run the place . . . just provided dates and locations . . . made sure the local coppers were lookin’ the other way wherever we anchored.”

  Rafe was stunned at first. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Creighton was Ledbetter’s given name and that “Leddy” was half of Ledbetter. The man was too arrogant to even use a true alias? He looked at Barclay and at Lauren, who stood behind Murdoch, watching. He couldn’t let Murdoch see that he was making an important connection.

  “And what about those books and papers in your satchel? What is contained in that bag t
hat is so important you took it with you when you ran?”

  “Things. Stuff Creighton wouldn’t want seen.” He gave Rafe a dark look. “Especially by you. He’s not a great admirer of things Townsend.”

  That cinched Ledbetter’s identity as the owner behind Consolidated.

  “What kind of things?”

  “I’m through talking. Figure it out for yourself. And if you do . . . watch your back, Pretty Boy. My guess is there are people higher than Creighton that would like it all to stay hidden.”

  “One more thing,” Lauren said, coming around him and standing for a moment under his arrogant sneer. Then she reached up with her good arm and slapped his injured face so hard it sent him stumbling. When he regained his footing and looked up with fire in his eyes, his cheek was bleeding again where she had stabbed it.

  “I’ll see you rot in prison, Murdoch,” she bit out. “And I’ll make certain Creighton Ledbetter knows that it was you who gave him up.”

  Murdoch was dragged away cursing and calling her the foulest names imaginable—not one of which caused her to blink. She had a look on her face that would have chilled a pack of ravening wolves.

  Barclay hooted a laugh and turned to Rafe. “That is one woman not to be trifled with. Are you sure you’re up to marrying her?”

  There was a twitch of a smile at the corner of Rafe’s mouth. “It does bear thinking about.”

  Lauren heard them and decided to show them how Alcott women got things done.

  “There is one more thing we should get straight. Now seems as good a time as any,” she said, swaying to Rafe with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  Barclay’s grin disappeared and he took a step back, abandoning Rafe to his fate.

  Lauren lifted her chin and met his gaze.

  “There’s been a lot of loose talk about marriage of late. We’ve had contracts negotiated and announcements made and expectations raised, but as yet no one has proposed to anyone. I think you should know . . . there will be no marriage without a proposal that is duly witnessed and freely given. With all the standard verbiage and customary promises.” She broadened her stance and tucked her good arm across the injured one in her sling.

  “So you think I should propose,” he said, looking a bit blindsided by her demand.

  “One of us should,” she said emphatically.

  “You are determined, I see. Perhaps you should show me how it’s done.” He folded his arms and broadened his stance to mirror hers with a look of amusement.

  “A lesson in proposing?” She looked skyward, knowing he was calling her bluff, but enjoying the surprise on his face. “Very well. It should go something like this:

  “You kneel.”

  She knelt.

  “You take my hand.”

  She untucked his hand and held it gently.

  “Then you tell me what’s in your heart.”

  She watched the change come over his countenance and knew this was the time to reveal: “I am mad about you, Rafe Townsend. You amaze me and perplex me, thrill me when we’re together and make me yearn for you when we’re apart. I respect you and am proud of the man you are. You are my hero. I want to spend my life with you, have my babies with you, do great and noble things with you, and do little, tender things with you that only we will ever see.”

  This was no longer a tease or a contest of pride. This was about hearts and minds and the future they could make together.

  “I love you with all my heart, my soul, and my body. I want you to know that I will gladly, happily, eagerly marry you. And I’m asking you to marry me the same way. If you can.”

  There wasn’t a breath taken or let out as half the ship watched her propose to him. The silence afterward seemed interminable. But she gazed into his beautiful eyes and handsome face, knowing the goodness in his heart and how much he was willing to dare for her. She trusted him to do the right thing.

  And he did.

  He reached down and lifted her to her feet.

  “Let me know if I leave anything out,” he said softly.

  He knelt.

  He untucked her hand and took it between his big, warm ones.

  And he spoke.

  “I love you, Lauren Alcott. You astound me and confound me, you excite me when you’re near and leave me aching for you when you’re far away. I’ve never met a woman like you—a woman I could respect and enjoy and desire all the way to my bones. You match me thought for thought, kiss for kiss. I had no idea that a marriage could be more than just a contract and a duty until I met you. You’ve shown me things, made me feel things I never thought possible. I want you to be my partner, my lover, my confidante. I want to have children with you and grandchildren. I want to help fulfill your dreams . . . because . . . you’ve fulfilled mine.

  “You want me to marry you joyfully, eagerly. Sweetheart, I will. Anytime and anyplace you say.” He took her face between his hands. “I adore your courage and your faith in me. I pray I am worthy of both.”

  She sank to her knees before him and kissed him tenderly.

  “Are your conditions met?” he whispered.

  “More than met,” she whispered back. “I think we just proposed to each other. Which, I have on good authority, is the best way to start a marriage.”

  There was a gruff rumble that resembled clearing a throat.

  When they looked up Stringer was looking down at them with tears in his eyes. Fighting tears was contorting Barclay’s face such that he looked like a happy gargoyle. Beside him, Fosse, Gus, Little Rob, and Jims were all dabbing their eyes. And there was another fellow—small, pug nose, large ears—sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  “Ye know,” Stringer said, wiping his cheeks, “out here on open sea . . . bein’ a retired capt’n an’ all . . . I got marryin’ rights.” The offer seemed tentative, as if it might be improper or they might turn him down.

  “Really?” Lauren looked at Rafe, who shrugged and nodded, and she turned to Captain Stringer with happy tears streaming.

  “Yes, Captain, if you please. Marry us. Here and now.”

  “Well, now,” he puffed out his chest, brushed his sleeves, and donned his tricornered hat. “Considerin’ yer already on yer knees . . . this is as good a time as any. Join yer hands, you two.” He looked around, and when they indicated they were ready intoned solemnly, “Dear belovers . . . we be here on this sad excuse for a deck to join this brave feller and his sweet lady in th’ holdin’ state o’ matri-money . . .”

  Lauren grinned and Rafe chuckled as they looked at each other and listened to the words that would bind them together just as they had just been bound together in spirit by their own words. It was lovely and funny and perhaps not entirely legal. But from that day on, it would indeed be their true wedding.

  She even managed to slip a last-minute bit of negotiation into the ceremony. She wanted to call the new company being formed Alcott-Townsend Shipping instead of Townsend-Alcott Imports. Her second point was that a trust be set up for each of their children on their christening day.

  Rafe threw back his head and laughed, affirming her wishes. Stringer paused, seeming confused, and asked, “She always like this?”

  Rafe responded, “Yes. And I wouldn’t have her any other way.”

  Afterward Stringer had them break out extra rations of grog for the whole crew and one of the seamen brought out a concertina and played some lively tunes that set their toes tapping. With another round of grog they were soon dancing up and down the deck and asking permission to take the bride for a whirl. Lauren graciously agreed and managed to dance with at least half the crew before the sun started down.

  “Well, Mrs. Townsend,” Rafe said as he held her in his arms to watch the sun set, “how does it feel to be a married woman?”

  “Splendid,” she answered. “I’m the luckiest girl in England . . . married to the handsomest, bravest, richest man I know.”

  He lowered his lips to her ear. “You’ll feel even luckier if you don’t mind sleepin
g in a room that smells like somebody smoked a pig in it.

  “As romantic as that sounds,” she answered, “I think I’d rather wait until we have a mattress and some clean sheets. And just possibly a marriage license and an entry in a ledger.”

  “We do have a license, sweetheart.” He kissed her temple. “Our fathers got the bishop to issue one the day they signed the merger contracts. All we need to do is sign the papers and have it recorded.”

  Twenty-Five

  It wasn’t until they docked that she realized who the little fellow with the pug nose and big ears was. She saw him writing on a pad as the ship was made fast and customs officials arrived. Then he put on his bowler hat and she recognized him as the reporter who’d written those awful stories about her. She hurried to Rafe, who welcomed her into his arms and listened to her outrage at the fact that the little blighter had sneaked aboard and been on the Clarion the whole time.

  “I knew he was there,” Rafe said, bracing for her reaction.

  “And you didn’t tell me?” She was shocked he could be so calm about being followed and scrutinized.

  “When I saw him he was puking his guts out over the rail. Turns out he’s not much of a sailor. It was throw him over the side or let him come along as we rescued you. He was at our wedding, too, you know.”

  “Oh, dear.” She looked stricken.

  “I insisted on reading his version of things, and I have to say he did a smashing job of it. Made it sound exciting and heroic and romantic.” He pulled her into his arms. “We’ll be the envy of intendeds everywhere.” A wicked little smile curled his lips. “And if he writes about us or the Angel ever again, I’ll break both his legs.”

  “Oh. Well. In that case . . .” She nestled against him. “I suppose we can weather one last blast of fame.” His nearness was causing her knees to go weak. “I just wanted to ask . . . where are we going to sleep tonight? Our wedding night was spent on that ‘poor excuse for a deck’ with twenty tipsy sailors. I’m not complaining, but I’d really like to have some time alone with you.”

  “Would you really?” He laughed. “You brazen woman, you. How about Claridge’s?”