Immortal (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Book 2)

by Meredith, Anne

  Staring at her feet, she asked suddenly, “Did you make my shoes?”

  He exhaled wearily as he continued to work. That he didn’t pull her hair at all spoke of his dexterity with knots—and she remembered hotly that morning when he’d first touched her and had first mentioned untying knots. At last, the twisted scarf fell to the bed.

  “I just wanted to thank you, if you did. I love them more than any other shoes I’ve ever had.”

  “No need to mock.”

  “I wasn’t. I do love them. Did you, then?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “And I did not know the scarf was dear to you.”

  “It isn’t. I had forgot it. ’Twas merely pouring oil on troubled water.”

  Reaching for a drawer in his chest, he withdrew a small bottle. A few moments later, he began working long, relaxing fingers from the ends of her hair to her scalp, releasing a luxurious, romantic aroma.

  “What is this?”

  At last, he said, “Tahitian jasmine. It reminds me of better days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I traveled to Polynesia first with my father, as a boy. I traveled there last with Michael, as a man. My father no longer sails for enjoyment, Michael is gone, and the world is at war. Is it any wonder a bit of floral elixir can bring a man joy?”

  He turned to his dresser, and she rose, feeling the soft, tamed curls. “I keep it in this drawer, but ’tis yours now.”

  “No, I couldn’t—”

  “Stop,” he pleaded. “’Tis a small gift—and a selfish one—from one who has to tell you the impossible.”

  She waited, the simple pleasure of his gently dressing her hair dampened.

  “You cannot leave the cabin for the rest of the voyage.”

  She was surprised at how that stung.

  “But I worked so hard. My fingers—”

  “I know. I dressed your wounds.”

  “Then why—”

  “You took fire into a room containing enough gunpowder to destroy every English ship lurking in Boston harbor. Can you at least tell me why?”

  “Will it change anything?”

  “For you getting out of this room, no.”

  She hesitated, knowing how stupid she was about to sound. “I felt sorry for the women, staying in that dark room all day and night.”

  “It is not forever. Are their needs not met?”

  “I would be terrified, in the dark.”

  “Perhaps you did not know the powder was there.”

  “I suspected it, the first time I visited. I simply thought if I left the candle in a dish of water, they would be grateful, and would be careful.”

  “Be careful of what? They have no idea they’re sleeping on gunpowder.”

  “What?”

  “High treason! Not something I generally confess to strangers.”

  “But they surely know what you do for a living.”

  He laughed, his skylit eyes now darkening to sea-azure. “I do this not to survive, Marley. I do it not for the profit, but because I saw a lowly, simple man, a man who had no rights in this society, display more courage than any king has, by standing up for injustice, standing up for a boy he didn’t even know. I do it to honor his courage.”

  She watched as he spoke, as his gaze rested on the walking stick leaning against his dresser. He licked a corner of his lip thoughtfully, then raised his gaze to hers. “Perhaps you can help me? How would you explain that to the lady who was ripping out your hair over a scarf?”

  “Can’t you forgive me for the candle? I’m so sorry.”

  “My Marley, I’m coming to realize I could forgive you almost anything. This isn’t about punishment.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A ship on its best behavior is a dangerous place for a woman. A ship full of unpredictable women of questionable character is far worse. Add in a load of gunpowder and a woman whose own courage unnerves me, and I can scarcely focus on what’s in front of me, let alone threats out there awaiting.”

  He walked to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I do it not to punish you, but to protect you.” His hands slipped down her back to the curve of her waist, drawing her against his chest. “Forgive me for striking you.”

  “It didn’t hurt,” she said softly, her breath brushing the bare skin of his chest where the shirt opened. She raised her lips to his throat. “It excited me.”

  His gaze kindled. “A captain does hate to encourage disobedience.” With that, he teasingly swatted her behind again as he kissed her hair and drew away. “Please don’t set the place on fire while I’m gone. Tonight, perhaps, I’ll finish what we’ve started here.”

  Marley pressed smiling lips together, unable to speak as he gave her a fiery glance.

  Tonight, perhaps, she would ask him why he wouldn’t kiss her.

  .

  Chapter Fourteen

  Raven sat in the mess with the men finishing a game of dice, filled with anticipation, filled with thanksgiving.

  First, they were almost home. Despite the cold, Boston was his family’s home, he’d been gone for months now, and he had missed them. Unlike the rest of these misfits, he had a home and he disliked being away almost as much as he loved sailing. Perhaps not quite as much, but he loved and missed his family.

  Helen, the next oldest, would have given him another niece or a nephew by now, and he missed being the amusing uncle. Not that Eston was likely to garner that distinction, with his nose always in his law papers. And Parks, his baby sister. When they’d sailed out of Boston, she was still gawky and giggly, all legs and arms. Now, he couldn’t wait to see her. Times were uncertain, and he feared for them all.

  The older he grew, the more he enjoyed his time on land. The more he yearned for a proper home of his own. Somehow, during their time in Boston, he was going to have to find a way to tell Hawk that soon, he would give up the sea. The thought broke his heart.

  Second, it was nearly time for Thanksgiving. Although many of their neighbors celebrated the days of thanksgiving appointed by the colony, nobody did it up like his mother. She turned no one away, she invited strangers who soon became friends, and last year in their modest two-story home, she'd fed fifty. She would roast turkeys, and bake hams, and prepare crab cakes and macaroni and cheese and sweet potato pie. Only a seaman could understand how he could sit at a table gnawing a leathery piece of beef for an hour and still be hungry. The seaman, after all, understood better than anyone the luxury of fine food.

  Third, it would be nice to get away from Hawk for five minutes. He wasn’t sure what was going on with that man, but he’d ignored Raven’s pleas to improve his mood by taking one of Kit’s wenches into his cabin for a couple of hours. Now that place was occupied fully by their visitor—and there, Raven was fairly certain, the problem lay.

  Aside from Raven, no one understood the captain. Women took one look at that ungodly pretty face and thought him to be a rake and a flirt, someone they knew well how to hypnotize. But he had been reared by an older man, a serious and well-educated man who had made his own share of mistakes, and he had taught the boy all about life’s finer virtues early on.

  Intense. That was what women who took the trouble to know Hawk, said about him—and not complimentarily. Raven couldn’t tell; he’d known him all his life, so as Mama would say, Hawk just was what he was.

  And while Hawk did indeed enjoy frivolity in its time—often when they arrived back in Bermuda after a long journey, when he would find a girl he liked and spend several days with her—he had no use at all for silly women.

  He suspected that their mysterious guest on this voyage had unwittingly captivated Hawk the first moment he saw her in the surf. She reminded Raven so much of his mother it was a little disturbing. She was like a wildflower, hardy yet tender—and bright, apt to blossom again when one least expected. And she had that flavor of beauty that could keep a man enchanted the rest of his life. Imperfect. Unique. Huge light brown eyes—again,
like his mother’s. And she rarely spoke at all.

  “You’re getting as absent-minded as the captain,” Deming said. “What is he about, lately? Does he have a fever?”

  Raven harrumphed. “If you’re so concerned about his well-being, ask him yourself.”

  But Deming was right. Hawk’s concentration wasn’t a fraction of what it used to be. If he knew Hawk, he might be lost already to Marley. This, he wouldn’t mind—as long as they all wound up settling in generally the same locale.

  If only they could successfully navigate the murky waters of treason.

  Surely, if Hawk decided to marry, he would give up his ship. Women and ships, they just didn’t mix. This voyage had proved it better than most.

  The thought gave him pause. If ever a woman might work out well on a ship, he thought, it might be Marley. If she could keep from getting herself in trouble. She had too much energy to be left below for weeks at a time, and too much earthy appeal to bring on deck. He himself had a hard time dismissing her from his baser musings.

  He was so mired in thought he lost his next throw. And then came the lookout’s cry, along with the chirp of the pipes.

  “Sail ho!”

  They hastily turned up the table and fastened it to the wall, then hurried above.

  Hawk arrived straightaway and they examined the ship on the horizon, growing larger.

  “Delight again.”

  “Unaccompanied?”

  “Appears so.” Hawk put down his glass. “What do you think? Up to a little tussle?”

  With all his thoughts of home fresh in his mind, he was loathe to entertain visions of cannon fire blowing a hole in his midsection. He hesitated. “So close to home.”

  “Never a better place. She’s lost her escort.”

  “How do you know? Perhaps she lurks just beyond the horizon.”

  “She would be sailing ahead.”

  “And us with a hold full of whores.”

  “Come now, is that any attitude to have toward our comely patriots?”

  After long consideration, he said, “You know my mother’s not many miles off, fattening turkeys.”

  Hawk clapped him on the back with warm affection. “I do know that. We’ll be there in time to fight over the drumsticks.”

  With that, the orders rang out over the ship and the men went into motion. They ran clattering down to the mess hall where they pulled down tables and with sheer brute force wrangled the cannons into the portholes. They scattered over the main deck, sliding the carronades into place.

  And one of the men hurried to send up the commander’s brand new ensign: Appeal to Heaven.

  As Raven watched the flag rise and fly in the wind, hope and fear warred within him. They were one of only a handful of ships authorized to wave the flag, courtesy of the Commander-in-Chief of all military forces, thanks to the Continental Congress. Not that Congress had much of an idea what Washington was up to, from one minute to the next.

  “You are forging a new country, son. Never lose heart. In all things, have courage.”

  The memory of his mother’s earnest, quiet plea when last he’d seen her, stirred his heart. And then, as he always did during such moments, he remembered the man who’d taught him through his own example courage beyond any free man’s imagination.

  Michael would have been pleased.

  Hawk stared into the distance in dismay. Falligan was attempting to flee. This, more than any other piece of evidence, assured him that they’d lost their escort. It would take long, hard sailing—and luck—to catch him.

  But catch him, they did. Without a single shot. The Delight had dropped anchor when they arrived, and Hawk sent Raven, Deming, and half a dozen of his men out to man the Delight and escort Falligan back. As the boat headed across, he strode over to his cabin and looked inside.

  Marley sat in the daybed, Gulliver’s Travels open on the bed beside her, her eyes alert on him. The worry on her face was clear. She was fully dressed, her hair fastened underneath the cap, her back ramrod stiff. The reading was a ruse.

  “Stay here. We’re taking an English merchant ship and will be adding passengers, some of whom will dine with us this evening. You’ll remain here throughout.”

  She came to her feet with sober attentiveness. “Yes. I won’t be serving?”

  “No. You’ll be sitting quietly in the corner, not drawing attention to yourself.”

  “Yes.” She returned to the daybed.

  “Marley.”

  She waited.

  He fought the urge to hold her—perhaps one last time, these things were always fraught with risk—and raised his head.

  “These men and I have a history, and it isn’t pleasant. If anything goes wrong—hide. The daybed is as good a place as any, as I’m sure you’ve discovered. Do what it takes to avoid capture. Tell me I don’t need to explain why.”

  “No.” Her voice had fallen to a whisper.

  He closed the door behind him and ran down to the room where the girls were hidden. “Mother Barbary, a word?”

  The mother hen padded to meet him at the door. “We’re capturing a prize. The captain of the ship is Stephen Falligan. Perhaps you recall him.”

  She hummed. “Perhaps, perhaps. We shall keep a lookout, captain.”

  He gave a nod, locked the door behind him, and headed back up.

  Watching the exchange of crew members through his spyglass, he noted Raven directing the return boarding party.

  Falligan descended into the boat, followed by two others. One, he didn’t know. Then he made out the face of the third, and his gut clenched—it was that perversion of humanity, Percy Snaveling. He debated on whether to put Marley in with the other women. They would be safe from Snaveling, whose appetites were barbarous. But dressed as she was, she would be brutally raped before he learned the truth.

  Why the hell was that bastard still alive?

  Perhaps she would have the sense to hide in the daybed—he had no idea whether she’d found it by now, but she was a sharp girl.

  Hawk barked at his next in command, and Conrad hurried forward. “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep your pistol trained on them. Relax your guard at no time, no matter how harmless they seem.”

  Conrad joined another armed seaman on the quarterdeck. As Falligan and the others prepared to board, Conrad stood behind a carronade and braced his forearm over it, leveling his flintlock at Falligan.

  Hawk called the next man over. “Falligan will remain heavily armed, even after he’s surrendered several. Stay alert.”

  The boat arrived, and the officers from the Delight climbed the ladder, followed by half a dozen of their seamen.

  Falligan, the taller and darker of the two, eyed Hawk in disinterest. “So we meet again, you grimy bastard.”

  “And under equally pleasant circumstances. Strip. All of you.”

  The breath caught in Falligan’s lungs for a moment, and then he laughed. “I can see your hospitality is as fine as ever. That field hand you sent to board already confiscated my weapons.”

  Hawk ignored his slur on Raven. All a ploy to gain the upper hand.

  “Do it. Now.”

  “Damn that accursed, useless escort to hell. Had he an ounce of gray matter between his ears, you’d all be dead.”

  Hawk removed the dirk from the scabbard at his waistband. “Shall I cut them away? Clothing over there. Carefully, now,” he added, as Falligan removed his coat. “There are half a dozen muskets and pistols trained on you, and it would be a shame should one trigger finger slip.”

  Falligan’s black eyes glowered as he threw the coat.

  “You, too, paederast,” Hawk said.

  Snaveling observed him, a cool smirk lingering at his mouth.

  “By the way, shouldn’t you be dead? Is your partner so desperate for the despicable?”

  Snaveling ignored him.

  “And you—your name?”

  The third, younger than the other two but with a gaze Hawk found untrustworthy, mut
tered, “Hayworth.”

  Their coats tossed aside, the men waited.

  Hawk laughed. “Keep going, boys. We’re long at sea and short on amusements. Take it down to the long johns, if you have them. If not, ah, well. There might be a breeze.”

  “I refuse.”

  “Very well.” Hawk tossed his knife in the air and made as if to approach. Falligan had seen Hawk and his men handle knives, and he knew each was an expert knife fighter.

  “Stop. Give him everything, men.”

  The men reached into each boot and their waistbands, producing a small arsenal of knives.

  “That did no more than prove me right. Down to your long johns. If we find no more weapons in your clothes, we’ll return them to you. If we do, you’re in for a chilly trip.”

  Anger crackled from both men. Snaveling’s cheeks went pink, but Falligan had paled in anger. Hayworth simply glowered. Still, off came their shoes, shirt, and breeches, joining the growing pile of clothes.

  They stood in long johns, shivering with the cold of a late fall day in the North Atlantic.

  “Mr. Janssen, you’ll recall your impertinence to me last evening when I ask you now to inspect these men’s persons for weapons. Beware of bugs.”

  Although a jest, the seaman seemed loathe indeed to frisk the men. Still he did so and gave the captain a solemn nod.

  “Mr. Conrad, will you and Mr. Cooper and Mr. Janssen escort these gentlemen to the cable tier and secure them there?”

  “Aye, captain.”

  Hawk shook his head and sighed as the men passed. “My word, I can recall a day, not too long ago, when an honorable privateer could entrust his scurvy guests to honor their own white flag. ’Tis a shame, indeed, what’s become of the world.”

  And with that, he waved a signal to Raven, who watched the exchange from the Delight. That ship’s crew manned the capstan to raise the anchor, and Hawk led them on toward Boston.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As darkness fell over the Adventurer, Marley lit all the candles in the captain’s cabin. At least a dozen times in the hours since they’d taken the English merchant ship, she’d closed her eyes and whispered a short prayer for courage. She’d stopped to slow her breathing and calm herself.