“But you are a lady,” Celia said in a horrified voice.
“Someone useless, you mean.” Jenna fixed her gaze on the land ahead. Martinique. A part of France. Her country’s enemy.
Needing something to do, she started to fold the dress that had nearly been destroyed and placed it in her small trunk.
“My lady, I will do that.”
“Nay, you are still feeling ill. I am not useless, Celia.” The words were more snappish than she’d intended. She felt so helpless at the moment. For a few hours, anyway, she had felt needed and wanted. Then she had been so lightly dismissed by the captain, her offer so easily rebuffed.
But she had idea.
The question was whether she dared.
Alex saw the Charlotte at anchor as the Ami sailed into the harbor at Martinique. So the ship had made it. He made a note to give the second mate, Marcel, an added bonus. It looked battered, but not nearly as badly as the Ami. It had probably avoided the heart of the storm.
Still, the blow had taken its toll.
Marcel was obviously alerted to his arrival. He stood on the Charlotte’s deck as the Ami anchored next to it.
“Pleased to see you, Cap’n,” he yelled. “We was worried about you.”
“And I you,” Alex said. “Did you see the British frigate?”
“Nay.”
“We had to go into the storm to lose it.”
“No sign of the Sassenach around here.”
“Have you been into town?”
“Nay, I was going to wait until you appeared.” He grinned. “I knew you would.”
“Good lad. Let some of the crew go into town now. They deserve it. And give them each a guinea.”
“Aye, sir.”
Alex turned back to his own crew as the anchor was lowered. He wanted to see the French governor first to hear whether there was any news—or changes regarding their welcome since the last time they visited the island.
“Hamish,” he said. “You are in command while Claude and I go ashore. I’ll try to find a doctor.”
“And the prisoners, sir? They are a sorry lot after the last day.”
“They can come on deck,” Alex said, “but I want them guarded. Hopefully we can release them in a few hours.”
“And the Campbell lass, too?”
“And why not?” Alex said shortly, even as he realized the Campbell had charmed the old grizzled Scotsman who hated as much as he did.
Hamish shrugged yet continued to watch Alex steadily.
“She has been … useful,” Alex admitted. “But she was a passenger on the Charlotte. We cannot keep her. She is to be married on Barbados.”
“I dinna think she is that eager to go.”
“Every lass is eager for marriage.” But he knew that was not right. Many women married because they were forced to make a good alliance, or because they simply found that to be preferable to being the barely tolerated spinster of the family.
For some unfathomable reason, Alex did not want to see that happen to Jeanette Campbell.
He watched as the anchor was lowered.
“Should we lower the quarter boat?” Hamish asked.
Alex felt a rare moment of indecision. “In thirty minutes. I want to check on Meg.”
He saw a twinkle in Hamish’s eyes and silently damned the man. He was not going to see the Campbell lass. It was a matter of supreme indifference to him that she would soon be leaving the Ami.
Good riddance.
But first he needed to know how Meg felt.
He went down the companionway, hesitated at the passage that led to his cabin, then turned in the opposite direction to where Meg received care.
Robin was, as usual, at Meg’s side. She was clutching his hand as if it meant her life. Alex saw pain in her eyes.
“Meg?”
“I am better,” she said.
But she was not. He knew it. He had thought the fever had gone down, but now he wondered. Fever spots reddened her cheeks and her eyes were far too bright.
“I see,” he lied.
Robin looked up at him with real fear in his eyes. Alex had seen fear in his eyes before, but never like this.
“Where is Lady Jenna?” Meg asked.
“Jenna?”
“She asked me to call her that,” Meg replied.
Jenna. The name seemed to fit her far more than Jeanette did. Jeanette was formal, aristocratic. Not the lass who obviously loved the sea, stood up to privateers, and had a way with children.
“We have reached Martinique. She is leaving.”
“Nay,” Meg said.
“There will be a doctor there.”
“I want her.”
Alex was stunned. He knew that Meg had been drawn to Jeanette Campbell. Perhaps because of the songs or the softness so long denied her. He had no idea how important that connection had become. “She is a Campbell.”
“She is not like them,” Meg said.
He wanted to say the Campbell lass had been trying to save her own life. But that would not be the entire truth. He had seen the tenderness in the woman’s eyes, something she could not disguise.
“She is going to get married. She could not stay, even if she wanted to.”
“Will you ask her?” Meg’s eyes were pleading.
“Why?”
“She makes me feel better, as if she really …”
Alex ran a rough, calloused finger along her cheek. “A lot of people love you, Meggy,” he said. He surprised even himself with the words. He had never used the word before with the children.
Meggy’s eyes filled with tears. An ache filled his heart. He could help her. He could demand that the Campbell lass—he could not think of her in any other way—stay aboard. Hell, his life would be forfeit anyway if he were captured.
He had nothing to lose.
But could he destroy Jeanette Campbell’s life, no matter how much he hated her clan? She was to be married. And if she stayed aboard the ship, she would be in as much danger as the rest of them.
For Meggy’s sake. Why did he think that would mean more to the Campbell lass than her own wedding?
Perhaps because he never would have thought that even he would put this child before his own goals. Because he now knew it was possible to care beyond revenge and hatred, even unwillingly.
“I will talk to her,” he said, his fingers clenching into fists. “I cannot make her stay if she wishes another life.”
Meggy looked up with big, luminous eyes as if he were God.
If he were, he would cure her with a touch.
Since he was not, he had to approach a Campbell. God help him.
Jenna had been told to stay in the cabin. But she wanted to see Meg. By the saints above, she was going to do just that. She could not leave the wee lass without at least a goodbye. She hoped it would be only a temporary good-bye.
She planned to appeal to the governor. Surely he would understand the need for a child to be in a woman’s care. Meg was no relative of the captain’s. If that tactic failed, well then, she’d heard the ship was looking for new hands. Even at her short height, she was as tall as some of the sailors.
If an eleven-year-old lass and twelve-year-old lad could stow aboard, then so could she.
She would lose her reputation forever. She did not care.
She paused at the mirror. She had changed into a clean dress, a green one she knew turned her eyes to a shade of aqua. She thought about putting on a pair of gloves, but to what purpose now? Everyone had already seen her mark. She did pin a cap over her hair to keep it from flying wild. How she wished to wash it.
She turned to Celia. “Stay here. I will be back.”
She tried the door. It was unlocked. She went through the empty passageway. She supposed most of the hands were abovedecks. She quietly opened the door to the sick bay, not wanting to wake Meg if she were sleeping. Instead, she saw the captain sitting next to her, Meg’s small hand in his large one. Neither of them saw her at first, and she
was startled at the strength of the bond between them, the tenderness in the captain’s face.
Until he turned around and glowered at her.
Her fingers curled around the edges of the door. “I want to say good-bye to Meg,” she said.
He rose, his height dwarfing her. He had always been impressive in stature, but he was intimidating in other ways as well: his cool eyes, the grim set of lips permanently hovering on the edge of a smile. It made him look dangerous and wicked and oddly appealing.
“How is she?” she asked softly, refusing to retreat.
“The same. I hope to find a doctor in Martinique.”
“Can he do anything more than Hamish?”
He shrugged helplessly. It was difficult to imagine the man being helpless about anything.
Then he caught her gaze and held it. “Are you anxious for your marriage?”
Stunned, she could only stare for a moment. “That, sir, is none of your business.”
“Nay,” he agreed. “It is not. Except …”
She blinked. The intimidation had been replaced by an uncertainty. A rare uncertainty, she was certain.
“She has been asking for you,” he said reluctantly.
Jenna felt her heart beat rapidly. Meg wanted her. Someone wanted her.
Remember your duty. Your promise.
No one would really care. Probably not even her intended husband. He could send away for another wife, one who would probably please him more. But then what would she do when Meg was better and she was put ashore?
And she would be put ashore. She had no doubt about that. She was being tolerated only because the child had asked for her. “I can stay on board until you leave Martinique,” she said.
“You did not answer my question,” he said.
“What difference does it make?”
“I would not want to be responsible for destroying your future.”
“A Campbell’s future?”
“Perhaps just one Campbell,” he said.
There were other comments she could make. She saw by his clenched jaw that every word was difficult for him.
“I will stay as long as Meg needs me,” she said instead. “But I want Celia to be put ashore and made safe and comfortable.”
“It will be done, Lady Jeanette,” he said stiffly. He was standing close. Very close, and she felt the heat from his body, fancied, even, that she could hear his heart beat. For a moment, her breath seemed to leave her, and she thought … for the barest moment …
He moved away, leaving her to stand alone. “Jenna,” she said, somehow feeling it necessary that she say something. “My name is Jenna.”
It would have been easier, Alex supposed as she stepped down into the quarter boat, if the woman had refused. If she had even protested. It was only now that he realized she had not answered his question about her forthcoming marriage.
She’d simply looked … relieved. He did not want to like her. He did not want to admire her spirit, her willingness to remain among enemies for the sake of a child.
In truth, for a moment, she had looked uncommonly appealing with the white cap holding long golden brown tresses in place and those expressive eyes wide with surprise. He’d been stunned to realize he wanted to kiss her. And even more so at how much he wanted to do it.
It had taken all his strength to take a step backward. She was a Campbell. She was on her way to wed another. She was, he’d reluctantly realized, an innocent even if she had Campbell blood.
And he was the devil.
He told himself it would be just for a few days here in port. Then he could rid himself of her as planned.
Claude looked at him curiously. Alex said little to him as they discussed what they would tell the French governor and how much of a bribe they would offer him to allow them to drop off the passengers and sell the Charlotte here. He would grumble that it might provoke the English, and that right at this moment there might be a peace treaty.
Then he would claim a substantial percentage of the prize in the name of the French government, which would receive damned little of it. Alex had already played this game a month earlier. It was one reason he’d sent the first prize back to France, but he simply could not do that again. His crew was already too small.
“When do we take the Charlotte’s crew in?” Claude asked.
“This afternoon, I hope.”
“And the Campbell mademoiselle?”
“She will be staying a few days.”
Claude’s brow furrowed, but he wisely said nothing more about the Campbell lass. “What about the personal belongings?”
“Lady Jeanette can keep hers. The others will be allowed only enough to get them to where they are going.”
Claude nodded.
Alex’s attention turned to the small group on the docks awaiting their arrival. Among them were several uniformed officers and a patrol of blue-coated soldiers.
Alex and Claude exchanged glances.
As they stepped on the dock, the patrol surrounded them, and the officer addressed them. “The governor wishes to see you.”
Alex nodded. He leaned down and told the senior crew member in the quarter boat to row to the Charlotte and tell its master that he was not to let any of his men leave the ship at the moment. He said the words in Gaelic.
“What are you saying?” the officer demanded.
“Just that they should stay aboard.”
The officer looked at him suspiciously. “Any attempt to leave will be considered an act of war.”
A chill ran down Alex’s back. Had a peace treaty been finalized? And if so, was one of the conditions the seizure of his ship? And his crew?
He nodded to the quarter boat crew to return to the ship, then turned and with Claude and the escort strode toward the governor’s house, wondering whether this would be the last time he knew freedom.
And, bless all the saints, what of Meg and Robin and his crew?
And the Campbell lass?
Chapter Thirteen
Jenna stood on deck and watched with endless fascination the small but active port of Fort Royal.
Several large ships, most flying French flags, were anchored in the natural harbor. A number of small fishing boats rocked at their moorings.
The town itself was colorful, with whitewashed buildings set against the rich, dark green of the foliage.
She looked for a glimpse of the captain, who had dressed for the occasion in dark blue breeches and waistcoat over a linen shirt. The color emphasized the Atlantic blue of his eyes and his dark hair.
He had been gone for hours.
She still felt the electricity that had darted between them in the hallway, still knew the urge that had made her look up at him, still experienced the heat that had flooded her at the glint in his eyes. He had wanted to kiss her. He had come very close to it.
She had come close to willing him to do it.
No man had ever looked at her with desire in his eyes. It was a new and intoxicating feeling.
But she knew it would come to nothing. He would never consider an alliance with a Campbell. He’d made that clear.
She could never consider an alliance with a man of violence.
A man without a country. A man who was wanted by at least one country. Her country.
She wanted peace and contentment and family.
And yet …
She could not get his face from her mind, nor the almost chagrined offer he had made. She could tell how much he cared about the children, when he’d asked her to stay. Not demanded. Requested. He had even voiced concern over her marriage. The expression on his face had told her it was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done.
He had done it for Meg. And that touched her heart. No true villain would be capable of such an act to one he considered an enemy.
She glanced back at the hatchway leading below. At least Meg was resting. But the lingering fever worried Jenna. After months of hiding in the Scottish mountains, Meg simply did
not have the strength to resist it. She had the will, though.
Jenna had come up to get some fresh air. She had, she knew, also hoped to catch a glimpse of her enigmatic captor. But she soon discovered he had not yet returned and that the crew was getting restless, even nervous.
Probably because they were under the guns of Fort Royal.
She wondered whether she too should be nervous.
Why did he not return?
“Do you see him?” Robin appeared beside her.
“Who?” she said, not liking that sudden moment of guile. But she didn’t want anyone to realize she was actually watching for the captain.
“The captain. Will,” Robin explained.
“I was looking at the mountain,” she said.
“It’s a volcano,” Robin offered. “Will told me about it the last time we were here.”
“Did you know Will before …”
“Culloden Moor?” Robin finished.
“Aye.”
“Nay,” Robin said shortly.
Jenna knew from his tone that she should not persist or she would break down the small trust she had already established with him. “The crew likes him,” she observed, choosing a less sensitive topic.
“Aye,” Robin said unhelpfully.
“He must have been at sea before.”
“He would have to tell you that,” Robin said, turning his gaze from her and searching the wharf.
Another hour went by, then another. She continually went down to check on Meg. She was awake the second time, and Jenna sat with her, trying to make conversation without saying anything that might upset her. She certainly was not going to ask any questions about “Will.”
“How do you like the sea?” she asked. That seemed a fairly innocuous question.
But Meg’s lips turned down in a frown. It took several moments before she mumbled, “I like it.”
But could she really? The only lass among so many men. No female to talk with. No one to answer questions. No mothering. Little gentleness. What was her past life like, or had the horror of the last eighteen months completely clouded the past?
“I like it, too,” Jenna finally said. “There is something liberating about it.”
“Lib-erating?”
“Making you feel free,” she explained.
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