“As I was saying,” the doctor continued as though he were discussing one of his scientific experiments, “With such limited experience with alcohol, I find he doesn’t tolerate it well.”
“So he gets drunk easily. Is that it?” The captain looked at the three men in disbelief. “That’s the problem, I mean the predicament?”
They nodded in unison.
“A little alcohol, or a lot, doesn’t matter.” The captain snorted. “Most of my crew will be lucky not to be facedown in a gutter by the end of tonight.”
“It’s not that he gets drunk,” the doctor interrupted.
“Well then, what the hell does he do?” the captain asked, running his hand across the back of his neck. He had clearly had enough of whatever game they were playing.
Spellbound, Amanda wondered where this story was going. She had to admit she hadn’t really remembered climbing into her hammock the night she tried rum. Had she done something improper under its influence? The room growing warmer by the minute, she tried to recall the rest of that evening.
“He giggles,” the doctor said with a shrug.
“Giggles!” the captain and Amanda exclaimed together.
“Yes,” said Bull, finding his voice again. “And, we just figured it was kind of unseemly and all for a sailor to giggle, drunk or no.”
“Hmm hmmm,” murmured the other two in agreement.
They all looked so satisfied with themselves that Amanda was sure they had to have made the story up. Besides, she had more self-composure than to giggle when she had a little rum. Well brought-up ladies, even ones raised in the country, avoided giggling.
“I have had enough!” the captain bellowed, and Amanda’s knees wobbled.
“You three are hereby ordered to remain on this ship until further notice. Your shore leave is canceled.” He paused as if to think what else he could do to them, but simply added, “And, before you go borrowing any more of my books, you are to ask my permission. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” all three men said in unison.
“And you.” He looked at Amanda, but she could see the fire had gone out. Giggling appeared to be less of an offense than stealing.
“No shore leave for you,” he growled but then stopped and regarded her. “Not that you look like you were planning to go anyway.” He turned to go but stopped again. One hand on the doorframe, he swiveled to face her. “And stay away from the rum!” he bellowed before turning and slamming the heel of his fist against the doorjamb on his way out.
Chapter Fifteen
The following morning dawned clear and bright. All those given shore leave the night before were back aboard by midmorning. They looked and smelled a little worse for wear, but since Buck and Bull had both had a good night’s sleep, they were in fine form to make sure no one shirked his duties.
Shortly after the noon bells, Captain Stoakes spotted a lone English merchantman on the horizon. He glanced around at his crew with their glazed eyes and slack jaws. An unescorted ship presented too promising an opportunity to pass up. Perhaps fast sailing and a well-fought battle would shake the cobwebs from the addled brains of his men. He gave the order to give chase.
The captain got the speed he craved, and the Amanda overtook her quarry with ease despite the merchantman’s relatively low profile and fast lines. The battle, on the other hand, was not to be had. One shot over the bow and the captain of the English vessel hauled down her colors.
Only a short time later, Amanda understood why. She had been below deck helping the doctor re-stow his unused operating instruments and supplies when the hard thud of booted feet sounded on the steps.
“Captain wants you on deck when you’re finished with your duties here, Adam,” Buck said, climbing halfway down before ducking his head under the planks to relay the orders. Before she could ask why, he disappeared through the hatch.
She caught the doctor’s eye then turned back to wrapping the doctor’s clean bone saws in a sheet made of wool. “What do you think he wants?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
Her nerves were still a little rattled from his kisses the day before. Had they not been interrupted, how far would she have allowed his advances to go? She had grown hungry for more than his kisses, and even now, she could feel the imprint of his warm hand against her belly.
She had managed to avoid him all morning and had been hoping to extend the reprieve awhile longer, at least until she could pull her wits about her again. Her knees still grew week every time she thought of his strong hands encircling her waist.
The doctor shrugged. “You know the captain. He works up a powerful hunger chasing the British. He probably just has a request for dinner tonight.”
Amanda laughed, but only to cover her nervousness. “Or, maybe he just wants a mug of coffee,” she suggested with false cheer.
Doctor Miller gave her a look that told her he had heard the forced nonchalance. He hadn’t said anything, but she doubted he had been fooled by their performance yesterday. After all, he knew her secret and had interrupted their kisses once before. This morning, when she returned to the cabin, she found the captain’s black leather thong sitting atop her pillow. She had torn it from his hair while he had her pressed against the wall on the doctor’s side of the room. Where it went once it left her fingers, she had no idea, but she doubted it crawled into her hammock on its own.
She took her time packing the doctor’s remaining instruments into his storage chest, making sure each one lay properly nestled, the blades protected from impact by the soft wool. When she unfolded and folded a protective cover around a sharp blade for the third time, trying to get it right, the doctor came and put a hand on her shoulder.
“I can finish that. You know how the captain is when he’s hungry. I think you’d better get up on deck.”
“Yes. Thank you, doctor,” she said, turning the task over to him.
Amanda climbed the steps to the upper deck. What could the captain want? Certainly not a repeat of last night’s performance since he had asked to see her in such a public place. Considering how often their private exchanges had ended in passion lately, perhaps meeting on deck, surrounded by her shipmates, was the safest place for both of them.
She expected the captain to be waiting on deck. Instead, she found him talking to a man, not nearly so tall as himself but almost twice as wide. They were engaged in a cordial, if somewhat stiff, conversation. The captain even laughed at a comment made by the other man, although his smile did not quite reach his eyes.
He must be the captain of the English ship. His velvet coat, cut in a stylish fashion, looked finer than anything most Americans could afford or would choose to wear even if they did have the funds. He had layers of lace about his wrists and neckline and carried a lace handkerchief in one hand, with which he repeatedly dabbed his nose. Since the man appeared in good health, Amanda suspected snuff or force of habit more than any lingering illness.
She didn’t think she had ever seen the captain talking to the commander of another ship so soon after battle. The code of the privateer usually dictated the enemy captain be held prisoner aboard his own ship in the comforts of his own cabin but under armed guard until they reached port.
She stopped several feet from the captain to give him his proper due and because it seemed wiser to keep a good distance between them.
Captain Stoakes stood with his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. When he spoke to the English commander, his tone was light, convivial, but his eyes were always on the English captain. He gave the impression of watching the man, assessing his strength and his weaknesses. How very like a wolf.
But if her captain behaved like a wolf, the English commander looked more like a fat partridge, unaware of the predator nearby. Amanda ducked her head to hide her grin.
The breeze shifted and carried the captains’ voices across the deck. The commander of the merchantman, in his clipped English accent, told Captain Stoakes his ship had been separated from their escort by
the recent storms. As fortune would have it, they had survived the gale, but wound up lost until the Amanda arrived.
The captain of the merchantman didn’t seem at all displeased to have met up with an American privateer. In fact, he sounded rather eager to hand over his “very special cargo” with the understanding that Captain Stoakes would see it safely cared for and to its proper destination.
Amanda inched closer to see what more she could hear. The “proper destination” for most cargo was public auction in a port such as Boston. However, she had heard there were prize courts as far south as Martinique. Her spirits soared at the thought of sailing to such an exotic locale. Then they returned to deck. Not being an official member of the crew, she would hardly be chosen for the prize crew. Life could be so unfair.
“I hope you and your officers will do me the honor of joining me for supper this evening,” Captain Stoakes said.
The invitation startled her. Did privateer captains often invite their prisoners to dine with them? They had captured several ships, and so far, no one had been invited to supper. Did the captain expect to entertain them in his quarters? Where on earth would he stow all those books, charts and papers?
Amanda shook her head when Captain Stoakes bowed to the other captain before signaling for Buck to escort their guest to the ladder. She found it hard to believe that just minutes after they were trying to kill each other these two captains could have a genial conversation and agree to dine together that very evening. She knew women who held a grudge for years after the smallest slight. Men could be so simple at times.
Buck steadied the Englishman at the elbow and assisted the portly man over the side.
The captain turned toward Amanda, and she held her breath. How long he had been aware of her presence? The glow in his eyes suggested he had known the moment she stepped onto the deck. Perhaps she was the partridge.
His gaze softened as though he had called a momentary truce. For whatever reason, he needed her assistance.
“We’re going to have guests tonight. Do you think you’re up for cooking a meal for eight?”
“Yes, sir. Anything in particular you would like to serve?” she asked, trying to sound more like a ship’s cook than a woman with a supper party to plan.
Captain Stoakes pursed his lips and considered. “No, you choose. I don’t think you’ve served me a bad dish yet.”
Amanda’s insides melted like butter. She would prepare the best meal he had ever tasted—within the limits of his larder, of course. His unexpected praise emboldened her.
“Captain, is it usual for a privateer to entertain…his prisoners?”
She had been uncertain what word to use for the captured ship’s crew. Buck had always called them prisoners, but she didn’t suppose one invited prisoners to supper.
“Not unusual,” he replied, not appearing put off by her choice of words. “At least not on a privateer, anyway. The code a privateer sails under requires us to treat the crew of any captured ship with the utmost dignity and respect. Some privateers make a regular habit out of entertaining their ‘guests,’ sometimes lavishly, although often raiding the stores of the captured ship to do so.” His words ended with a chuckle.
“Have you ever done that?” Amanda asked.
“That would be illegal,” he replied with a mischievous grin and a slight wink that told her he wasn’t denying anything.
Amanda heart raced.
“But no matter. Before you became my cook, I’m afraid I didn’t have a choice. I would have been violating the privateer’s code of honor if I subjected them to Cookie’s fare.”
Although true, Amanda wondered if that was a joke. Then the captain’s eyes crinkled at the corners and she laughed.
“There will be eight?” she asked.
“Yes. Three of our people, four of their officers and a guest.”
“A guest?”
“Hmmm,” the captain murmured. “A young lady apparently.”
A young lady? Now that was interesting. She searched his face to see if he thought so too, but his smile had dissolved, and he stared off at the horizon. A dark cloud shadowed his features, and Amanda rubbed her hands over her arms to warm herself. She guessed the idea of two women on his ship didn’t sit well with the captain.
****
Captain Stoakes watched his crew haul a young woman on deck in a contraption that looked much like a tree swing. Apparently, she had claimed to be too weak to climb the ladder. More than likely, she enjoyed the attention of the men watching her carefully perched backside on the makeshift hoist. She swung her silk-slippered feet and swayed above the deck, all while proclaiming the experience to be “most frightening.”
Women don’t belong on ships, Will thought for at least the tenth time that morning. Judging from the way she mesmerized his crew, this woman in particular did not belong on a ship, especially not his ship. He noted with disgust the slack-jawed faces of several of his crew. He would have to talk with Bull and Buck about increasing their workload to keep them out of trouble.
He must safeguard her even though she was his “prisoner” as Amanda had called her. He smiled at that. The woman hardly seemed to mind being a prisoner. Even so, as his prisoner, his duty required him to make her as comfortable as possible.
“Oh dear,” the woman said when her feet touched the solid planking. She spoke to no one in particular but to any man willing to listen, which at that moment seemed to be any man within earshot. “I didn’t think I would make it through that. I can’t swim, you see.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and her gaze dropped to her expensive satin skirt made full by the numerous petticoats beneath. “At least, not with this dress on.”
Will ignored the hint of suggestiveness in her tone and stepped forward to assist her.
“Do not fear, miss.” He bowed, taking her small, white-gloved hand and kissing the air just above her knuckles. “I am certain more than one of my men would have jumped in to save you before you even hit the water.”
The girl blushed. Up close, Will could see she was no more than a girl. Maybe seventeen. Possibly eighteen, but certainly no older. Her wide-set blue eyes complimented her ivory-complexion. She must have spent much of the crossing from England below deck, lounging in her hammock and complaining of seasickness. If she hadn’t, her complexion would have been marred with freckles or at the very least sport an unfashionable sun-bronzing.
Thoughts of Amanda’s glowing skin, dotted with freckles across a pert nose sprang to mind and he pushed them away, forcing himself to concentrate on the preening, sallow-skinned woman before him.
The wind tugged at her large straw bonnet and threatened to shred the flimsy parasol she carried. She straightened her delicate lace over gown with elaborate fastidiousness, the breeze unmaking her every effort.
Why would a father send his daughter to a country in the midst of a war? She clearly hadn’t been bred for the frontier, and although the North Carolina territory didn’t classify as wilderness, she would have her share of hardships. Did she realize just how hard plantation owners, including the women, had to work to make a plantation profitable?
Although he couldn’t tamp down his immediate dislike for the girl, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her at the same time. If he guessed correctly, her aristocratic family in England had fallen on hard times. This girl had drawn the short straw when they decided which of the children they would ship off to the rich uncle in America. Undoubtedly, they hoped the rich uncle’s connections would help restore the family fortunes. She would be expected to make a match with a wealthy man as soon as possible, the wealthier the better. He had his own experience with more than one such unfortunate sniffing around his bank accounts.
The girl stumbled and took a halting step forward. Buck reached out to steady her. She assessed him from beneath the sweep of her dark lashes, and Buck flashed his most disarming grin.
Will cleared his throat before the girl had time to take in Buck’s velvet coat and silk shirt. He needed hi
s second in command on his ship, not tied down to a demanding aristocratic wife who refused to accept that her blue blood meant nothing in America.
“You must be the pirate captain.” She tucked back an ebony curl that had escaped from beneath her bonnet and let her fingertips linger at the side of her cheek while she raked him with her dark eyes.
The girl knew her part in the scheme.
“Privateer, miss. Welcome aboard the Amanda. I am at your service.” He made another elegant bow.
“There’s a difference?” she asked, a small frown of disappointment on her delicate features.
“Most definitely, miss,” replied Will.
There was, of course, but he’d be damned if he would take the time to explain it to this little chit.
“Well, I’m happy to be on your boat, sir.” She curtsied.
A suspiciously feminine gasp came from somewhere near the steps. Someone, and Will had a good idea who, watched from the safety of the hatch. He checked his grin just in time. Amanda had made the same mistake, calling his ship a boat, on her first day at sea. He had threatened to toss her overboard at the time. The blood had drained from her face, and he had felt contrite over the harsh treatment of a new recruit, but the fault did not lie entirely with him. Cookie had served him a haggis that morning and it lay in his stomach like a rock.
He had been well fed this morning, so the Captain’s Curse couldn’t be blamed for the desire to grab this woman by her laces and toss her back over the side to see if she really couldn’t swim. He distracted himself from the urge by estimating how long it would be before he could get her off his ship and away from his men.
Perhaps being a woman herself, Amanda might enjoy the opportunity to spend time with their guest. At the very least, she could keep the chit away from his men. Had he been alone, Will might have snorted. Given the vast dissimilarities between the two, he had the uncomfortable feeling he would be handing Amanda a duty worse than scrubbing decks.
Caution to the Wind (American Heroes) Page 16
