by Ava Bradley
Indeed, the smaller boat had come untied and was heading back to the beach on its own, carried by the tide.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Ranklin. I should have paid closer attention."
"Do not trouble yourself. 'Twas me who tied the knot in question. I am quite content admiring this exceptional craft. Montague certainly builds the finest ships on the sea. Ah! Here comes my man now. They saw me waving, after all."
Across the lagoon, one of Tigress's crew rowed toward them. The shore boat's white hull gleamed in the peculiar glow of twilight.
"Excuse me while I bellow for my son." Mr. Ranklin smiled broadly as he pushed away from the railing and started toward the bow hatch.
"Er, Mr. Ranklin." Edwina stopped him and carefully lowered her voice. "I must speak with you regarding a most critical matter."
Chapter Nineteen
Adriana sensed Mrs. Bailey in the open doorway. She remained where she was, holding Christian's limp hand. When he wasn't red and sweating with fever, he was deathly pale, shivering with chills. The few moments he seemed to rest comfortably were few and far between, and Adriana kept her voice low so not to disturb this one.
"Will you ask Mrs. Ling to bring my breakfast? And have her make some more tea, the pot is nearly empty."
"Adriana, take your meal in the galley this morning. It has been three days and there is no change. Surely you can leave him for a short time."
She wouldn't leave him for a single moment. Adriana was afraid if she did, she would come back to find him jaundiced and they would discover it was yellow fever, not malaria. Too tired to argue, she simply shook her head.
"It is inappropriate for you to stay in here as you do. You did not return to your cabin last night, after promising me you would."
"Then I shan't promise it," she said absently.
"Adriana that is not what I intended. Your behavior is most indecorous. Why, what if someone were to learn you spent the night in a man's bedchamber?"
"I do not care what anyone learns, or what anyone thinks."
"You do not mean that. What has gotten in to you, child? This is not like you."
No, this is the real me, Adriana thought. I no longer care to pretend otherwise.
"No one shall ever hear of it, unless you tell them." She glanced over her shoulder. "I am tired of living my life in anticipation of what people I do not even know will say." She hated speaking to Mrs. Bailey in such a way, but she had to tell the truth. Adriana turned back to Christian. "Let come what may."
Mrs. Ling appeared in the doorway with a tray. The sweet smell of cinnamon bread made Adriana's stomach grumble.
"How he doing this morning?" she asked. "Look good. Face not so pale."
Adriana bristled with hope. She'd hardly left him, so gradual changes in his condition were undetectable to her. "Have you made more tea?"
Mrs. Ling poured a cup and handed it to her. She then offered Adriana a plate with two slices of buttered cinnamon bread. "I get breakfast for Mr. Dupree now."
"Send him in, and Mr. Ling, too. I wish a word with all of you."
The old woman nodded and hurried away.
"What is it, child?" Mrs. Bailey asked when they were alone.
"I wish to set out on the final leg of our journey today."
"But Adriana, we should stay right where we are. If he dies, we are this much closer to home."
Adriana couldn't stop the anger fusing her features. "How can you say such a thing? He will not die."
The older woman pinched her lips in a taught line.
Adriana's insides quivered as she fought the hot tears stinging her eyes. She would not allow herself to cry. Christian would not die!
"I intend to finish what Mr. De la Croix has set out to do," she said, forcing her trembling voice to remain steady. "I will rescue his father by myself if I have to."
"Adriana, you are speaking nonsense. Of course you cannot do such a thing."
"I can, and I will. I must."
Henri and the Lings crowded behind Mrs. Bailey in the doorway. Adriana stood and smoothed her skirts as she prepared her words. "Mr. Dupree, if you feel we are sufficiently stocked, I ask that we set out this morning."
His face brightened with anticipation. "Oui, we have full stores. If you feel up to it, so do I."
She knew what he intimated; between Barbados and Tobago was at least two straight days of sail, if they encountered good wind. Longer if they didn't.
"You have all been through a great deal on this voyage, and you've persevered valiantly. I will see to it that you are all duly rewarded."
Mrs. Bailey became rigid. "We stand by you, dear, even if we do not understand, or agree with your choices. You know it need not be asked."
The words were cordial enough, but in her tone, Adriana could hear Mrs. Bailey was most unhappy about her decision.
"Mr. and Mrs. Ling, I know you are tired–”
"We have good rest last three days." Mrs. Ling smiled and nodded furiously. She seemed to have been old since Adriana was a child, but the woman possessed a youthful spirit that filled Adriana with awe.
"I wouldn't ask it if it weren't so important. Do you know what we are going to do?" Her cheeks flamed with the daring of her words. She had not yet spoken aloud of the transgression she was about to commit.
Henri glanced at the elderly couple. "They know," he said softly. Again she sensed it; a secret between them they weren't quite ready to share with her. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
She glanced at Christian's still form. "He once asked me what I would do if it were Father imprisoned on that island. I didn't answer him then, because I didn't know. Now, I do. I wouldn't have had his courage. His determination. His fortitude. For that I'm ashamed. Christian deserves this, and I have the power to make it happen. I must find the courage to do so."
"I owe you an apology, chéri." Henri stepped over to take her hand and gave it a squeeze. "When I told you back in Georgia that you didn't have the daring to make good of this trip, I was wrong."
Her confidence shot towards the sky. She turned and smiled at her captain "We shall set out immediately. Mr. Dupree, I will plot our course to St. Laurent and you and Ollie shall share the helm."
When they all moved away, only Mrs. Bailey remained in the doorway. She stayed silent as Adriana returned to the edge of the bed. She brought the teacup to Christian's lips and encouraged him to drink. He no longer refused the bitter tasting brew, but getting him to swallow it in his unconscious state took great patience.
"Adriana, please. Reconsider."
She set the cup down and turned back to her chaperone. "Mrs. Bailey, I am aware no one has found this journey more difficult than you. Likewise, no matron has ever been so loyal. Rest assured I will see to it Father rewards you to the highest degree. You shall never have to seek employment again."
Mrs. Bailey's gaze slipped away and the light in her eyes faded. She quickly brushed it away and straightened her shoulders. "My desired recompense is to witness your success, so you understand why I must encourage you to see the error of your ways."
"I am simply righting a wrong that is owed by my family."
"At great expense, child. Perhaps you believe the end justifies the means, but who shall right the wrongs inflicted by those means?"
I will, Adriana thought. If I have to devote my life to it. At least then, I will have purpose.
"This is a debt you are not obligated to pay on your father's behalf."
"Obligation has nothing to do with it."
Still with her back to the door, Adriana heard her chaperone move away and sighed a breath of relief.
"I am still here, Christian darling. I won't leave you."
"Adriana..."
She came to life with renewed energy. It was the first he'd spoken in three days.
"Yes, my sweet." She squeezed his hand and was delighted when he squeezed back.
"Mon beau, Adriana."
My lovely Adriana.
A thousa
nd butterflies took flight in her stomach. It was the fever talking, or was it? Why would he say such a thing if he didn't truly mean it?
Could it be he had feelings for her? She'd suspected he found her pretty, she knew her own reflection well enough to be pleased with her God-given attributes, but could it be possible he felt more than simple attraction?
She exhaled a sigh of regret. How could he? She'd given him nothing to admire. She'd been cold and cruel and downright wicked. Not only that, she'd tried to stand in the way of the most important quest of his life. She'd tried to keep him from his father.
She was wicked. Why, if anyone tried to do that to her… What would she do? Would she have Christian's courage? His resilience? Would she have the strength to defy anyone who tried to stop her?
She gazed over his prone form. Christian was a champion. Her stomach fluttered again as she imagined him rescuing her with the same undaunted bravery. If only father had chosen a man like him as her husband. No, not like him. If only he had chosen him. Oh, what a life she'd have as Mrs. Christian De la Croix! To think, her entire life an adventure like these last few, short weeks.
Adriana's heart sank as she remembered who, and what, Christian was. There was no future as the wife of a jewel thief. She shrugged it away as a silly girlish fantasy, but inside she quaked with grief. Perhaps her future wouldn't seem so bleak if it were anyone other than Preston Weiss she was to marry. She comforted herself in the knowledge she still had one last chance to beg her father to reconsider. Perhaps this time, he would listen.
Adriana bit her lower lip. Father would never listen. He wasn't the man she'd believed him to be, but she still knew him well enough. He would never give up his chance to become the most powerful ship builder in all of America, perhaps in the world. Not simply because she found her betrothed distasteful. According to Father, things like that didn't matter. There were plenty of other pleasures to be found in life.
But hadn't he married beneath his stature because he'd loved her mother? It hadn't stopped him from rising to the place he wanted to be, especially if...yes, Christian's story was true. She had to face reality. Her father, too, had been a jewel thief.
Adriana closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. She couldn't think straight now. She opened them again and reclaimed Christian's hand. None of this mattered right now. She would forget who she was and become someone else while she was here, and not become Adriana Montague again until she returned to Baltimore. What he'd said on the beach was true. "We can become different people if we want to be." Well, she wanted to be.
Christian turned his head on the pillow. A soft moan escaped his lips. "Adriana. Mon chéri, mon amour."
Adriana froze, motionless except for the thundering heartbeat shaking her body. My love.
"Oui," she whispered. "Je t'aime, mon chéri."
I love you, too.
* * *
In the darkness he awoke to the soft sound of breathing beside him. Bon Dieu, it was hot. Thunder filled his head, accompanied by a sound like rushing waterfalls. He swallowed past cottony dryness in his throat and remained absolutely still, waiting for a bitter wave of nausea to pass. Slowly, it returned; the sound of soft breaths. He kept his eyes closed, content in what seemed like the first comfort he'd had in days, yet strangely, he couldn't remember why.
A wonderful scent drifted over him, lifting his senses. A Montrésor meadow in Spring.
Adriana.
He turned his head and struggled to focus in the thin light. He was in Edmund's cabin on Lady Luck. Adriana lay curled beside him, one hand tucked under her chin. She looked like a sleeping angel.
Had he succeeded in his plan and finally seduced her? No, not likely. Adriana was too smart for that. Besides, she was fully dressed.
"Vous êtes si beau," he whispered. You are so beautiful.
As though something troubled her in her sleep, her brow furrowed slightly and she licked her lips.
New life shot through him. What was she doing sleeping beside him? That nosy chaperone must have fallen overboard, for she never would have allowed this.
I must be dying. He had to be ill, he'd never awakened feeling this terrible unless he'd drunk himself nearly to death the night before. Dimly he recalled the evening on the beach at...wherever it was they had been. Something is wrong with me.
He didn't have the strength to wonder what had brought Adriana to his bed. Instead, as another miserable wave of nausea barreled over him, he simply closed his eyes and enjoyed her presence while it lasted.
Chapter Twenty
Bromley Ranklin peeled open dry eyelids and smacked away the pasty film coating his mouth. What in heaven's name did he drink last night that left him with such a God awful taste? And such a blasted splitting headache...
Ah yes, he'd drunk a toast of island rum, one toast after another if he remembered correctly, with that delightful island craftsman who'd created Tigress's new keel. Such a masterwork it was a shame to condemn it to the bottom of the ship where no one would ever see it.
Bromley was almost sorry there was nothing keeping him here any longer. Barbados was a gem in the middle of the sea. The people here were so friendly and true. No one was consumed with status, wealth, or gossip.
He brushed his teeth and smoothed his hair back into place before heading to the galley. Mrs. Murray stood at the stove, humming as she scrubbed away the remainders of her flapjacks.
"Don't think I don't hear ya there," she said, her strongest Irish brogue indicating her disapproval at his rising so late. "I know ya came back snockered again last night–how you manage to keep from fallin' off yer boat and drowning I'll never know–and now ya got yerself a heap 'o thirst. Ya'll find nothin' in here but me raspberry tea. Pour yerself a cup and be away with ye, the rest of the crew be wantin' their noon break soon."
He poured himself a cup of tea and once out of the galley, added some flavor to it from his flask.
On deck the blinding sunshine seared his eyes. He stopped, momentarily confused to see a tri-masted Baltimore schooner drawing her sails as she pulled into the bay. Hadn't Lady Luck pulled out yesterday, early in the morning?
"Here now, who is that?"
Bernard peered through the looking glass. "Windfall."
"No wonder. It's Lady Luck's little sister."
"Another Montague ship, eh? That bloke thinks he owns the seas." Bernard joined him at the rail as Windfall slowly drifted closer.
"Who is that captaining her?" Bromley asked his son. "I thought it was–what was his name–that fellow who rescued the poor unfortunates on that failed arctic expedition?"
"Adam Hollingsworth. No, this chap is much younger. Hollingsworth has silver hair." Bernard handed him the looking glass. "Have a look for yourself."
"Bob's your uncle. It's our friend Preston Weiss at the portside rail."
"And it appears to be Charles there, with him," Bernard finished with distaste. "Father, if you'll excuse me, I'm going below."
After the malicious rumor Charles Weiss had perpetrated against Bernard last spring, Bromley knew his son had a particular dislike for the man. "Not so fast." He winked. "I suspect we might have a bit of fun."
Bernard hesitated, then grinned. "Why Father, how sporting of you."
Windfall glided closer on the tide before dropping her anchor with a tremendous splash. Charles Weiss approached the port railing and shouted a greeting. "Ahoy, Tigress!"
"Ahoy, Windfall. How nice to see another American ship," Bromley called in response.
"You haven't seen any others?"
Ah, as it appeared, they were trailing Lady Luck. The Weiss brothers were a scheming duo of connivers. But why? Bromley wondered. Miss Montague hadn't mentioned anything to indicate they were near. "Not since Santo Domingo, when our first mate jumped ship to the Aggressor."
He watched as Preston and Weiss exchanged private words. Just as he suspected, something was amiss.
"I say, is Edmund with you?" Bromley shouted.
&n
bsp; The two men stopped abruptly, but it was only after a pause that Charles answered. "Eh, he's below. A little seasick after the storm. Did you get caught in it as well?"
"Edmund Montague has never been seasick in his life," Bernard whispered.
"I dare say you're right," Bromley answered, moving his lips as little as possible. "I've never seen a time he wasn't on deck, giving orders."
"Something stinks," Bernard agreed. "And it surely isn't the fish."
"We're looking for Lady Luck," Charles called over. "We were separated in the storm. Edmund is ever so worried about his daughter."
"Miss Montague didn't mention anything of the sort," Bernard said with a soft snort.
"Nor did she seem at all concerned." Bromley peered through the looking glass, scanning the crew. He'd never seen any of them before. That he didn't recognize them wasn't particular, but that they were a seedy looking bunch of sinister types was what made them odd. Besides that hulking ignoramus John Locke whom Edmund used as a bodyguard, and a rather failed one at that, Montague hired only the most exceptional sailors and architects for his ships. Everyone knew that was how he justified the outrageous prices at which he sold his luxury vessels.
"Perhaps she's fleeing her marriage? After all, consider to whom she is betrothed."
"Yes. Hmm." Bromley thought back to the evening their first mate fell ill. What had that plump woman said to him? His head felt as though it were clogged with cheese.
"And that young first mate certainly has the face to enchant a young lady. By the how, I wonder if he survived?"
"I wonder indeed," Bromley said softly. He cleared his throat. "Why yes, we saw her in Habana," he called loudly. "Perhaps she was headed to San Felipe to hide out the storm?"
* * *
Edmund awoke to the sounds of shouting voices on deck. A softer answer carried from farther away. Someone on deck was conversing with another ship.
They'd anchored somewhere, he could tell Windfall sat in a still harbor or bay. A column of daylight poured through the tiny portal. Edmund dragged his aching body off the bunk and set his feet on the floor. How he wished he hadn't sat around in his infirmary chair feeling sorry for himself all those months, but had followed Miss Reynolds' orders to improve his muscles. The simple act of shuffling to the window sent spiking pains from his heels up through his backbone and all the way into his head.
