Alistair stepped forward to do the honors. “Miss Cerynise Kend—”
“Excuse me,” Beau interrupted curtly, “but I think I’d better make the introductions, since this is my ship.”
The thin man sneered, unable to see what difference that made, but he bowed mockingly, permitting the captain to perform the services.
“Cerynise, this is the Right Honorable Judge Blakely,” Beau said, and as she dipped into a polite curtsy, he swept his hand toward her, “Your Honor, this is my wife, Mrs. Birming—”
“What?” Alistair croaked in outrage.
A twitter of amusement ran through the crew, and elbows were prodded as the men waited to see what would follow.
“This is my wife, Mrs. Birmingham,” Beau repeated for the benefit of the magistrate.
The cords in Alistair’s neck became visibly distended as he stretched it far out of his collar and railed, “He’s lying!”
The official looked perplexed. “But I thought she was—”
“This is too much!” Alistair flared, this time rising on tiptoes to shake a fist threateningly beneath the captain’s nose. “Just who the hell are you trying to dupe?”
Beau calmly reached into his coat and removed a folded parchment which he handed over to Judge Blakely. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order, sir.”
“This is a recent marriage,” Blakely stated, studying the document and paying particular attention to the signatures. Then he peered up at his host with blatant suspicion. “Are there any witnesses?”
“Every man of my crew, sir.”
“Can’t have married her,” Howard Rudd broke in. “The girl is underage! Without permission from her guardian, the marriage isn’t legal!” Bobbing his head like a child who was wont to gloat, he smirked at Beau in triumph.
“Cerynise’s guardian is deceased,” Beau rejoined as if he had never heard the man, directing his attention instead to the magistrate. “Besides, the officiating clergyman was fully aware that Cerynise is a few months short her eighteenth birthday. Under the circumstances, he saw no reason to object.”
“Under what circumstances?” Blakely queried.
“I’m about to set sail for the Carolinas,” Beau informed him. “Naturally, I meant for the young lady to accompany me.”
“As your wife, you mean,” the judge mused aloud, leveling a pointed stare upon the younger man.
“Exactly.”
Alistair glanced between the two men, all of his senses alert to the fact that shortly after Cerynise’s appearance, the judge had seemed to vacillate between the two entities that strove to possess her, as if the elder only wanted to do the right thing by her. That idea certainly didn’t bode well for his claims. “None of this makes any difference,” Alistair insisted, overly loud. “The marriage can’t be valid unless it’s sanctioned by her guardian! And since I’ve been given that authority, Cerynise must return home with me.”
Blakely turned a perturbed stare upon the lanky man. “I can hear you better if you don’t shout in my ear, sir.”
The corners of Beau’s lips quivered as he struggled to subdue his amusement. His sparkling eyes passed on to Rudd, who seemed suddenly petulant.
The magistrate bestowed a fatherly gaze upon the girl. “Miss…your pardon…I mean, Mrs. Birmingham. I hope you’ll understand that my duty is to make certain that nothing untoward is happening here.”
The gracious smile she bestowed upon him belied her desperation and did much to win his approval. “I understand, Your Honor. However, I must confess that I’m bemused because Mr. Winthrop has dared to pretend any interest in my welfare when I’ve seen no evidence of such.…”
Alistair opened his mouth to argue, but Blakely held up a hand, forestalling him. “He claims to be your guardian.”
Cerynise scoffed. “I would soon perish with such a guardian as he has proven to be. Indeed, he threw me out of Mrs. Winthrop’s home without cloak or coin. I very nearly froze to death, and now he’s back here claiming to want only my good. ’Tis a farce if I’ve ever come across one.”
“He has presented a codicil to his aunt’s will which places you in his care,” Blakely informed her, eyeing her closely.
She met his probing gaze unwaveringly as she calmly inquired, “Is there much difference between a farce and a forgery, Your Honor?”
Alistair snarled and stepped forward as if to lay hand upon her, but Beau swept her safely to the far side of him and lifted a mocking brow as he met the thin man’s seething glower. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss this at length after the judge leaves,” he suggested. “I’m open to pistols or fists, if you’re of such a mind.”
“Now, now, we’ll have none of that,” Blakely barked.
“The girl is lying, Your Honor,” Alistair insisted. “She is set on going with this rake, despite the fact that he will probably fling her aside once he reaches his home port.”
“Your wife has laid serious charges against this man,” the judge informed Beau.
“Are they any less serious than Mr. Winthrop’s efforts to challenge the legality of our marriage? Now tell me, Your Honor, what would a father do for his daughter in this situation? If you have daughters, perhaps you can instruct us.”
“I have three, Captain. In fact, my youngest is the same age as your wife.”
“What would be your reaction to any notion that a young lady can be married by a properly ordained clergyman, in full view of a crew of men, and spend the night with her husband only to be told the next day that she is not, in fact, lawfully wed?”
Blakely flung up a hand even higher when Alistair tried once again to interrupt. Then he cleared his throat and blustered over his answer. “I’d be set to see that they’re properly wed if they’re not already.”
He hesitated a moment, and then looked at Cerynise. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Birmingham, but I do have to ask. Were you and Captain Birmingham together last night?”
A hush seemed to settle over the deck as everyone awaited her answer. She caught as many as three glances cast surreptitiously at her, but they were hastily averted. Despite the fact that Beau had warned her, she found the situation acutely embarrassing, but at least she could tell the man the truth, even if it was with a blush. “Yes, Your Honor, we were together last night.” And then, because she was completely fed up with Alistair and his claims, she added for good measure, “In the same bed.”
That seemed more than the judge needed to hear. His face was quite red when he faced Beau. “My apologies for having disturbed you, Captain Birmingham.” He settled his top hat snugly upon his head. “Have a pleasant voyage home.”
Alistair stared after the magistrate in burgeoning disbelief as that one made his way toward the gangplank. “You don’t mean…You can’t…You mustn’t let this blackguard get away with this!”
Judge Blakely paused near the plank and turned to peer over a shoulder at Alistair. “Captain and Mrs. Birmingham have given every evidence of being lawfully married, sir. You’ll not find another judge in all of England who’ll say otherwise. ’Twould be a disgrace if any did. I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept that, Winthrop.”
“Why, you arrogant heap of slime!” Alistair railed back at him. “You should be denied access to the bench!” Shaking off Rudd’s restraining hand, he wheeled on Beau, his fury rising to heights that shocked everyone around him. “And as for you, you bastard! You may feel like a cock of the walk now, but I assure you I won’t let you get away with this travesty.…”
Beau’s eyes squinted dangerously as he fixed a glare upon the thin man. “What did you call me?”
Unaware of the peril he was in, Alistair shook a fist at the captain and gratified himself by enlarging upon his earlier slur. “A stinking bastard! A filthy, lying Yankee bastard who—”
In three long strides Beau was beside the man, catching him by the back of his collar and the seat of his britches. Alistair railed in shocked protest and sought madly to reach the deck with his toes as Beau w
hisked him swiftly a-port. At the rail, the captain swept his burden upward and outward, launching it from his ship. His unworthy guest scrambled with wildly flailing limbs to find a haven in midair, but alas, there was none. Alistair’s horrendous screech dwindled to a wavering wail that ended abruptly in a significant splash, causing the crew to erupt in loud guffaws and cheers. Beau was not entirely finished with his wife’s adversary. Snatching hold of the ratlines, he swung himself up with a dazzling display of strength and alighted with equal grace atop the rail. He paced forward to an open space and, with arms braced akimbo, roared down at the man who, upon bobbing to the surface of the water, promptly started coughing and gasping for breath.
“You can insult me if you have the gall, Winthrop, but if you even think of maligning my mother again, I’ll see you horsewhipped till your flesh comes off with the lash! I’ll let no sniveling lout like you cast aspersions on a woman to whom I happen to be very devoted!”
Beau swung down from his perch and dusted his hands off in the manner of one who had just rid himself of so much garbage.
“That’ll teach the bloke ta keep his lip in line, Cap’n,” chortled one of his crewmen.
Beau waved an arm in ready agreement. “Break out a cask, lads, and we’ll celebrate that toad’s departure.”
Thundering footfalls of those who went to fetch it nearly made the judge cringe, but he smiled in approval as the captain strode toward him. “I’m quite fond of my mother, too, sir.”
Beau grinned, repenting of his earlier impression of the man. “I thought you’d understand, Your Honor.”
Beau directed his gaze upon Howard Rudd, who had been immobilized from the moment he had seen his companion snatched up by the raging captain. The solicitor’s dewlap seemed to flap in the wind as he struggled to find his tongue and deny the possibility that he would ever dream of defaming so noble a creature as a mother. Giving up that feeble attempt, he whirled and, with coattails flying, sprinted toward the gangplank, nearly bowling the good judge over as he brushed past him. A moment later he could be seen launching a rope out to Alistair, who was trying desperately to learn how to swim.
Cerynise’s giggles joined her husband’s laughter as he took her in his arms, and for much more his own pleasure than for the benefit of his cheering crew, he kissed her long and thoroughly.
Eight
CERYNISE LIFTED HER head off the pillow long enough to search for the pail that Billy Todd had solicitously left beside the bunk. Emitting a small, miserable moan, she closed her eyes and kept as still as possible in a hopeful quest to forestall her stomach erupting, but every pitch and roll of the vessel seemed to incite rebellion from that queasy area. She marveled that she had ever considered the mate’s cabin a haven of any sort, for it had become a place of writhing torment from which she longed to escape. The fact that they had encountered rough seas soon after their departure from England gave her adequate cause to solemnly vow never to sail again as long as she lived…if she managed to survive this particular voyage.
It seemed strange, but in the last five years she had somehow managed to thrust the more repugnant details of her voyage from Charleston out of her mind. Granted, it had been overshadowed by her grieving anguish over her parents’ deaths and the loss of the only home that she had ever known. Still, looking back upon it all, it seemed that she would’ve at least remembered her inability to cope with unreasonable motion. The realization that she was not a particularly good sailor could hardly have been ignored.
A faint smile curved Cerynise’s cracked lips and abruptly drew a wince of pain as she felt a tiny split open the skin. Not a good sailor? she mentally jeered. Horrendous would be closer to the truth. If she ever reached land again, no power on earth could compel her to get back on another vessel heading out toward the open sea. Indeed, if she had her way, she’d stay well away from the ocean and never look at another wave again or subject herself to the agony of a ship rising upon long, slow, roiling swells and then plunging into the deep troughs that followed. It seemed an endless, diabolical cycle of waves rolling past the ship one after another after another.…
Cerynise barely reached the bucket in time, and it seemed an agonizing interval before she was able to lift her head again. Soon after realizing she was about to be sick, she had tried to hide her symptoms from Billy, who was ever pressing her to eat, but one glance at the well-gorged tray he had brought to tempt her was all it took. Then her secret came out. To her amazement her retching didn’t seem to bother the lad as much as it had her, for he had rushed to give her aid, supplying a bucket and a wet cloth with which she could bathe her face. Afterwards, she had sobbed and pleaded with him not to tell anyone, most especially her husband. Billy had been reluctant, deeming it unwise to withhold such information from his captain, but he had finally acquiesced. Thereafter he had personally attended her few requirements, bringing fresh water and a bowl of light broth now and then, a supply of clean towels, and surreptitiously emptying the pail over the side along with buckets of scraps left over from the galley.
Beau had knocked on her door more than a few times and, with each passing day, had grown more insistent that she let him in. Burrowing beneath the bedcovers, she had sent him away with muted refusals to see or even talk with him. That he had assumed she was sulking had allowed her to avoid a visitation that would have caused her a most excruciating shame.
Her strength had continued to ebb, and her parched lips were now susceptible to bleeding whenever tiny splits occurred. She tried drinking water, but even that would come gushing up soon after it was downed. Sleep was her only refuge throughout the endless hours of torture, but waking was difficult, for it usually came with a need for her to heave up what little she had on her stomach. She couldn’t even fathom getting dressed or garbing herself in anything more than a nightgown. Her hair was now hopelessly snarled beyond repair, but she cared not a whit about anything, much less the way she looked.
Three light raps on the door signaled Billy’s return for the bowl of broth he had left an hour ago. It was still sitting untouched on the tray beside the bunk. At her weak call, he quietly entered the cabin and then halted in astonishment. He was certain he had never seen anyone looking so deathly ill before. He was sure she couldn’t have looked any worse had she been near the grave. The shadows underneath her eyes were darkly pronounced, giving them a hollowed look. Her cheeks were sunken, and those previously soft, winsome lips were marred from dehydration. Indeed, the sight of her frightened him so much that he whirled about-face and ran to get the captain, having no doubt that he had just cause for going back on his promise to her.
A short moment later, Beau stood beside her bunk, hands on lean hips, short raven hair tousled from the evening wind that had raked across the deck, and an unholy light burning in his eyes. “Dammit, Cerynise, why didn’t you tell someone you were ill? You look like death warmed over.”
She hadn’t seen him in days, and the fact that he loomed over her like some divinely perfect fabled god only made her more aware of her weak, sorry state. She had been immensely relieved that he had accepted her croaked commands to leave her alone without barging in, for she had known only too well that he possessed the all-too-manly temperament to do that and much more. Nevertheless he had been constantly in her thoughts, like a strain of music that kept running over and over through her head. Now here he was, glaring down at her as if her condition was somehow her fault.
“Go away,” she moaned, turning her face aside to hide a start of miserable tears. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“In sickness or in health, my dear,” he rejoined with more sarcasm than she could bear.
“Just throw me overboard,” she whimpered, clasping hold of the covers as he began pulling them away. “I don’t want to continue on another day.”
“Come on, sit up,” he urged, ignoring her pleas as he slipped an arm beneath her shoulders.
She started to shake her head, but promptly decided that was not a goo
d idea. “I can’t! It only makes it worse. Just go away.”
“And let you die in peace?” Beau laughed shortly. “Never!”
Cerynise’s eyes widened in disbelief at his cruelty. “You’re a callous brute.”
“So I’ve been told.” He drew her up to a sitting position on the edge of the bunk and swept her bare feet to the floor, then proceeded to slip her arms into her dressing robe.
“Oh, what are you doing to me?” she groaned listlessly. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Take deep breaths,” he urged, hunkering down on his haunches to slide her slippers on her feet. “You’ll be fine.…”
His words had scant calming effect on her stomach. In sudden panic Cerynise collapsed forward toward the pail and relented to the dry, convulsive heaving of her stomach. At last, her queasiness ebbed and she fell back weakly upon the bed. The cooling strokes of a wet cloth on her face, throat and into the opening of her gown brought her a measure of relief, but she hardly had time to catch her breath before Beau was hauling her up again and pressing a tin cup to her lips.
“Wash your mouth out,” Beau urged, refusing to let her turn away from him.
Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Cerynise accomplished his directive and spat out the water into the pail. She sank back upon the bunk and lifted a doleful stare to her husband. It didn’t help in the least that he looked so hale and hearty.
“Now drink the rest,” Beau pressed, holding the cup to her lips again. “You’re as dry as an unearthed skeleton.”
“You hate me,” she mumbled against the rim, but relented enough to take a sip.
“Not true, madam.” He continued bathing her face and throat as she clasped the cup between trembling hands and drank tiny draughts. “But I am angry with you for allowing me to think you were pouting in here like a spoiled child when all the while you’ve been sick. If not for the fact that Billy thought he was being loyal to you, I’d have it out with him for not informing me of your plight immediately.”
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