Gallant Match

by Jennifer Blake

  “Yes, monsieur?”

  What could he say? He looked at his plate. “Nothing.”

  “Such a pity,” she murmured.

  Her voice was as dulcet as her smile. The need to be alone with her to demonstrate the folly of what she seemed to be doing was an ache inside Kerr. On second thought, that might be unwise given the hot anticipation the idea caused in his lower body.

  She took her slipper-covered toe away. Smiling with eyes like sunlit bluebells, she reached to pick up a sliver of ham with her fingertips and bent forward to hold it to his lips. Mesmerized, he leaned to take it. At the last second, he curled his tongue around her thumbnail, licking so the essence of her mingled with the flavor of ham on his taste buds.

  Her gasp was perfectly audible. She snatched her hand away, then made a valiant try at a laugh as she glanced around, noticing the attention the two of them had garnered. In a low murmur, she said, “What big teeth you have.”

  Kerr opened his mouth to answer her, but once more thought better of it. Some answers, particularly the more obvious ones, were best left unspoken.

  “For pity’s sake, chère,” her aunt said in sottovoce protest.

  Sonia turned a limpid gaze in her direction. “I assure you it is quite acceptable, even expected, ma tante. The gentleman has forbidden me the company of other men, demanding that I concentrate my flirtatious impulses in his direction.”

  “Has he?” the older woman asked faintly, putting one frail hand to her temple. The look she flung in Kerr’s direction was both apologetic and accusing.

  “I assure you, he has. What else am I to do? A lady must have some distraction, and he is quite immune, you know. He gave me his word on it.”

  Kerr suppressed a heartfelt groan. What maggot of the brain had made him put such an idea into her head? He was going to regret it, for she would see to it.

  Hell, he regretted it already. His head felt as if it might explode from the pressure building in his veins as she nudged his calf again.

  Down the table, Gervaise and his mother were involved in low-voiced disagreement. Kerr thought Madame Pradat was remonstrating with her son over his urge to rally to Sonia’s defense yet again. He tensed, waiting to see if it would be necessary to give the young idiot a lesson in swordplay after all.

  It was then that a ship’s officer entered the dining salon and walked briskly to where the captain sat at the head of the table. He handed over a message then stood back while it was read.

  Captain Frazier glanced up at his officer with a frown. Crumpling the message in his hand, he thrust back his chair and rose to his feet. With the briefest of requests to be excused while they continued with their breakfast, he went quickly from the salon.

  “What do you suppose that was about?” Tante Lily asked with a worried frown.

  Tremont, on her far side, patted her hand that lay beside her plate. “Nothing that need concern us, I’m sure.”

  Kerr was not so positive. It seemed he could just catch the distant thump and splatter of another steamer somewhere to the rear of the Lime Rock. That they would meet a vessel in what was a regular shipping lane was not unusual, but it should not require the presence of the captain on the bridge.

  His mind went once more to the arms shipment in the hold. Could they be about to make a transfer at sea? If so, the master of the vessel would have to be a party to the gunrunning.

  Kerr looked down the table to where Tremont sat. The erstwhile planter returned his gaze an instant through narrowed eyes before dropping his napkin beside his plate and rising to his feet. He stepped over the bench and left the room on the captain’s heels.

  It was too much. Kerr surged upright and followed in his turn. He was not moved solely by curiosity, however, or even suspicion. He was also glad to leave what had become a torturous situation.

  There was indeed another ship. It hovered nearby, paddle wheels barely turning, looking ghostly in fog. The flag that flapped from its masthead showed the colors of Mexico but it was no merchantman. It was, rather, a man-of-war with its gun ports hanging open and the snouts of its guns pointed at the Lime Rock’s waterline.

  Pennants were being hauled up by both vessels, appearing and disappearing in the drifting smoke from the stacks as the Lime Rock slowed its engine, losing headway. The captain stood on the forward deck with a spyglass to his eye, watching a signalman on the far ship. Taking the glass down, he closed it with a snap.

  Kerr stopped a few feet away, next to Tremont. He had his own ideas about what was taking place, but thought it best not to leap to conclusions.

  “What’s going on?”

  Tremont nodded toward the man-of-war. “The Mexican commander there demands we heave to and allow ourselves to be boarded.”

  “Why in God’s name should we do that?” Kerr could not, somehow, be surprised that Tremont knew how to decipher the signals.

  “Two reasons,” the other man answered in driest irony, “the first being we are unarmed and they have guns at the ready.”

  “And the second?”

  “The United States Congress has finally bestirred itself. We have declared war on Mexico.”

  Sixteen

  The thunderous boom of a heavy gun brought Sonia to her feet. She was not alone. Tante Lily jumped up with a shrill cry. Madame Pradat screamed and fell back into Gervaise’s arms. Madame Dossier clasped her children to her and bowed her head over them.

  The Reverend Smythe put his hands together as if in prayer. The reaction of other gentlemen was less pious.

  “Calm yourself, Maman,” Gervaise told his mother while craning his neck to see out a side window where another vessel could just be glimpsed. “We haven’t been hit. Judging from the powder smoke, I believe it may have been a warning shot from a bow gun.”

  It seemed a likely explanation to Sonia, though she could not imagine the reason for it. The need to find out for herself welled up inside her. With a glance from the strange ship to the door, she stepped around the bench.

  “Wait, chère, where are you going?” Her aunt reached to catch the back edge of her shawl. “We should stay here.”

  “I only want to see what’s happening.”

  “You’ll be in the way if danger threatens. Besides, Monsieur Wallace will surely come tell us what transpires.”

  No doubt he would, in his own good time. “I will only be a moment. I promise not to linger if there’s trouble.”

  She tugged her shawl free and went swiftly toward where the gentlemen were already crowding out onto the deck. Even as she made her way among them, she could hear the ship’s engines pick up their beat, feel the surge as the paddle wheels spun with more force, gathering speed.

  It didn’t seem at all normal. Fearful doubt ran through her mind, particularly as she recalled the grim set of Kerr’s face as he left them moments ago. She suddenly longed to be near him, anchored at his side where it was safe.

  That impulse brought her to a stunned halt. Where had it come from? Could it, just possibly, be the result of her deliberately distracting him, testing him and discovering his mettle last evening? Was that when she had begun to trust him so much?

  No time was allowed for an answer. A ship’s officer brushed past her, heading toward the stern. His shoulder struck her, so she stumbled against the bulkhead, though he hardly seemed to notice. It did nothing to reassure her about whatever was going forward.

  Regaining her balance, she stared around her but could see little for the bulk of the side paddle wheel. Moving past it in the direction of the stern, she stepped to the railing and peered around the crowd of men there.

  Blown sea spray, swirling smoke and the nose-burning stench of gunpowder stung her eyes. She squinted against it, gathering the flying ends of her shawl as she stared toward the open water behind them. Steaming to their rear, just off the port side, was the pursuing ship. Painted in hues of black, red and yellow, it had a solid, dangerous look to it. Its identity came to her in snatches as the men around her shouted
back and forth, leaning over the railing, staring, pointing.

  A Mexican vessel, a man-of-war, and it had fired at them.

  They were at war.

  This was it. War had come at last, after years of threats and skirmishes, posturing and diplomatic maneuvering. How hard it was to believe. The threat had hovered so long she had never expected to see it, in spite of railing about it to her father.

  Even more difficult to accept was that she was caught in the middle of it. What could a Mexican naval commander want with the Lime Rock, a mere packet ship carrying mail, cargo and a few passengers between New Orleans and Vera Cruz? Unless, perhaps, it was to seize the American commissioner who traveled on her?

  The paddle wheels churned, moving faster and faster, leaving twin wakes of roiling, foam-streaked water behind them. The Mexican man-of-war was giving chase. Both ships wallowed in the lingering storm swells with their masts describing violent arcs against the gray sky.

  It almost seemed to Sonia that she could sense the increasing heat of the boilers beneath her feet as they poured steam power into the pounding machinery. Certainly, she felt the constant shudder through the railing as the thudding crankshaft thrust the paddle wheels in ever more frantic revolutions.

  Gervaise, standing just down from her with the Reverend Smythe, called out something and pointed landward. Putting up a hand to protect her eyes from the increasing wind of their flight, Sonia gazed in the direction he indicated. All she saw was the coastline she and Kerr had watched earlier. It was closer now, for she could make out the blackish green silhouettes of palm trees and what appeared to be a white line of surf.

  The explosion of another shot echoed over the water. It flashed in fire-brightness and smoke from the muzzle of a small cannon mounted on the Mexican ship’s bow, as Gervaise had suggested before.

  A geyser spouted up just off their stern. The water from it splattered down, scudding away on the rising wind that whipped the fog from the tops of the waves and tore the mist along the shoreline into drifting gray rags.

  Men ducked away from the aft railing. As they scattered, Sonia saw Kerr with his feet spread as he braced there. He stared at the pursuing ship, his face so grim it seemed he meant to leap the barrier and stop the oncoming vessel with his bare hands. If the shot had come just a little closer…

  No, she wouldn’t think of that.

  Sonia shivered convulsively. She was damp and cold, her moisture-laden skirts whipping around her like wet washing on a line. She was the only female above decks, the only one braving the elements and the peril. It might be best if she returned to the dining salon with the other ladies. Tante Lily would be beside herself with anxiety about her and concern for their plight. She could at least relieve her mind.

  She could, she should, but it was impossible to drag herself away.

  Watching the events was far better than huddling below. Besides, what if they were hit? She could not bear the prospect of being trapped if the ship should sink.

  The Lime Rock appeared to be drawing ahead of the man-of-war; the stretch of ink-blue water between the two ships was widening. The packet was the lighter vessel with perhaps more efficient steam power. Captain Frazier must be throwing everything he had into the furnace, for they were fairly flying over the waves. It seemed they might well outrun their pursuer.

  Sonia clung to the railing, staring at the oncoming Mexican ship until her eyes burned. Her heart pounded in her throat and her hands ached from the hard grip of her fingertips. Terror poured along her veins like acid, yet with it ran fierce exhilaration. She could not recall when she had last felt so vividly alive.

  What would happen if they could not shake off this attack? Would the Lime Rock have to surrender? Would they be taken to another port as a prize of war? She had longed for something to happen that would prevent her marriage to Jean Pierre. For better or worse, this might well be it.

  Another blast from the Mexican bow gun thundered across the water. The shell arched toward them in a smoking parabola. It seemed to slow as it neared, though its scream grew louder.

  It crashed into the stern. The lower deck of the Lime Rock exploded in a fountain of splinters that spread, rising, pulling the planking apart at the seams.

  Cries rang out. Men flew in all directions. The ship’s stern rose up, sending buckets and rope coils, spars and bits of broken rail plummeting toward Sonia.

  A wooden pin of some description struck her and she fell to her knees. She snatched at the railing post, but it was torn from her hand as the ship crashed down again, deep into the sea. Tumbling, sliding, she came up against another post farther along the deck. She grabbed for it, holding on as soot rained down from overhead along with splinters and a deluge of seawater.

  She could hear the gurgle and rush of incoming water and the ominous crackle of what could only be flames. A great burst of steam poured from the back of the packet. On either side, the paddle wheels slowed to a grinding, cascading stop.

  The captain shouted in hoarse command. Ship’s officers ran here and there, shoving people aside. Passengers poured from the dining salon, crawled from the cabins below. Women prayed and shrieked and children cried. Crewmen swarmed to the upper deck where they dragged down a launch that dangled crazily from its davits.

  Sonia glimpsed her aunt. She could hear her calling her name. She answered, but her voice was drowned by the rumble and crash of falling objects and the dying blast from the ship’s steam whistle.

  She got to her knees, dragging her skirt from under them as she staggered upright. Though she scanned the men crowded amidships, scrambling away from the downward slant of the stern, there was no sign of Kerr. She turned to look behind her.

  The ship jerked, listed to starboard with a mighty groan. Sonia latched on to the railing again as the pitch of the deck threatened to toss her overboard. Two men rolled past her, slipping under the railing in a shower of splinters and dirt. They struck the water and went under.

  The Mexican man-of-war surged ahead as the crippled Lime Rock settled to a halt. Sonia could see it as the packet broached, slowly turning its bow into the wave troughs. The armed vessel seemed to be coming about, swinging around to perhaps finish them off.

  There was no need. They were sinking.

  Saltwater surged around her ankles, wetting her hems so they dragged at her waist. If she loosened her grip on the railing, she might dash up the canting deck to the steps that gave access to the upper deck. With the slant of the ship, she could see the crew preparing to set afloat at least three of the four available lifeboats.

  If the law of the sea was women and children first, however, it was not being followed. A good dozen male passengers were trying to wrest the launch from those about to swing it over the side.

  Both crew and passengers lost control of one lifeboat. It shifted, screeched along the railing and then shot over it into the sea. Immediately, men began to clamber after it, diving into the water.

  The ship rumbled, creaking mightily as it settled deeper into the waves. Something, a falling sail or rope with dangling pulley, swung past Sonia then slapped into her head from behind. She lost her hold and pitched forward, falling over the railing. The cold turbulence of the sea reached up to catch her and drag her down.

  It closed over her head, burning her eyes. Her shawl wrapped around her. It was wet, clinging, confining her arms. Panic burst in her mind as she felt herself sinking.

  She fought the cloth, dragging it from her face, her neck, her wrists, thrusting it from her, into the murky depths. It followed her retreat, tangling around her like a net. Lungs bursting, she dived away, finally leaving it behind. Almost immediately, she began to rise, bobbing to the surface in a balloon created by her skirts.

  The ship was dying. She could hear its death rattle, the choking, burbling rush of water through the cabins and salons, the muffled thunder of machinery and cargo letting go of their moorings, slamming into the bulkheads. And above it all, like the cries of seabirds, came the calls and
screams of those still on board.

  Horror poured over her in an icy wave. She cried out with it, and in rage against fate, in woman’s ancient curse for barbaric war and senseless destruction. The sound, thin and pitiable, was lost in the melee.

  Air trapped in her skirts was keeping Sonia afloat. It would not last. She could feel the wetness seeping closer, sense the drag of waterlogged cloth as buoyancy faded away. She had to get free of the layers or they would drag her down. She reached deep, digging for the hem of her skirts, tugging at the sodden cloth to reach under it for her petticoat tapes. She wrenched at them with all her strength.

  One or two came free, but others turned into wet and stubborn knots. Sobbing, she tried harder as water began to lap at her breasts, slapping wavelets against her chin. She could see the shoreline, almost believe she could hear the surf. Or was it the rush of blood through her veins?

  The water around her seethed with air bubbles rising from the ship. Boards and splinters floated, bumping into her, along with a chicken coop, a wooden pail, a belaying pin, a half-drowned pillow, a child’s rocking horse. She saw a man swimming, another floating. Somewhere, she could hear the squeak of oars.

  None of it seemed quite real. It could not be. Could it?

  The water was circling her neck. She could feel it lifting her hair that had come free of its pins, floating it around her like seaweed. She kicked free of one petticoat, then another. Her slippers were gone. Her bare foot touched something soft and warm as she kicked, and she shuddered away from it.

  Abruptly, she was snared by a hard, warm rope. It wrapped around her waist, pressing the stays of her corset into her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs. Flailing in the water, she grasped at that constriction with both hands.

  “Be still. Let me help you.”

  Kerr.

  She inhaled in sharp amazement, swallowed saltwater, coughed. That deep voice soothed, excited, galvanized her. She could feel his warmth, his heat and contained power along one whole side of her body. She turned her head so quickly that her hair tangled around them both.