Surrender in Moonlight

by Jennifer Blake

  "We are about to be boarded," he said, his voice abrupt. "You had better go below."

  She indicated the passenger moaning at her feet. "But, this man is hurt. Someone needs to see to him."

  "He'll be taken care of."

  "I-when they come aboard, you don't intend to resist?" It would be suicide as they sat there under enemy guns, besides branding them as pirates rather than merchants.

  "No," he said, the single word etched with the acid of bitterness, "but you can never tell what might happen."

  He took her arm then, forestalling further questions or argument. At the door of the companionway, he left her, striding aft to deal with his crew and the situation that awaited him.

  Lorna hesitated, holding to the door frame, staring back toward the injured man. She heard then the thump of the grappling hooks as a rope ladder was secured to the side. A moment later, there came the sound of rough, self-important voices.

  She did not care to witness Ramon's humiliation at having his ship seized, at his being taken prisoner. In the hectic pace of events, it was only beginning to come to her what this grounding of the ship meant. They were caught. The Lorelei would never run the blockade again. They would be taken aboard one of the federal ships, and Ramon's gallant vessel confiscated. A numbness gripped her, but of the kind that gave warning of pain when it wore away. She turned, thinking distractedly of the things she would have to do to make ready to be taken off the ship. Behind her, the arrogant voice of a federal officer rang out.

  "I understand you have on board a female passenger, one Miss Lorna Forrester, a known Confederate courier. I have orders of search and seizure for this woman, and demand that she be turned over to me on the instant."

  Lorna heard Ramon's hard denial, his questions, but she did not wait for the result. She plunged down the companionway and along the corridor to the cabin. Search and seizure. The implications of the term were plain; the meaning of it in connection with her name, and on the lips of the federal officer, would have to wait. Inside, she swung her gaze around the small space. She dragged the oilskin packet of dispatches from her cloak pocket, weighing it in her hand as she sought a hiding place. Her trunk was the first place they would look, and doubtless Ramon's the second. Under the mattress was too obvious; likewise under the straw matting on the floor. To put it among Ramon's papers would be to implicate him, the last thing she wanted to do.

  Outside she heard the clatter of booted feet on the companionway. There was no time to be clever. She took a step forward, and her slippered foot kicked against a hatbox, one of several scattered over the floor by the force of the grounding. She had become so used to them, she had scarcely noticed them in the dark. Now, she swooped to pick up a bonnet that had spilled from its nest of tissue paper. A confection of black lace with long veiling, it was peculiarly appropriate for wartime, a mourning bonnet. She thrust the oilskin packet into the crown, wadded the tissue paper around it, and crammed it back into the box. She was just putting the lid back on when the door crashed open behind her.

  She swung around, fixing a startled look on her face as she confronted the officer at the head of the detail of men in blue, one of whom carried a lantern. Pitching her voice higher than was normal for her, she said, "Oh, you gave me a fright."

  "Miss Lorna Forrester?" The officer was tall and clean-cut, nice-looking in a wholesome way, with brown hair tinged with mahogany and hazel eyes. He was not, she thought, more than twenty-six or twenty-seven.

  "Why, yes."

  "I must ask you to come with me, Ma'am."

  After the first brief glance tinged with admiration, the officer had stared somewhere just over her head. With a small, helpless gesture, she inquired, "Whatever for?"

  "Orders of the commander of the fleet, Captain Winslow, Ma'am."

  "The fleet commander? I am honored," she said, touching her hair, smoothing loose strands, "but I'm so untidy, and this cabin is such a mess-"

  "This way, if you please, Ma'am."

  She gave a small shrug and set the hatbox aside. Still fussing with her appearance, brushing off her cloak and patting her hair, she swept from the cabin ahead of him.

  Cupid stood in the passageway outside. He bobbed his head at the federals, stepping out of the way. As Lorna met his black gaze, he gave her a sly wink that seemed to carry a message. She smiled, grateful for the encouragement, before turning toward the companionway.

  Lanterns had been lighted and set about on the deck. Soldiers with muskets were ranged along the railing behind the federal commander, while Ramon stood facing him. The ship's officers were ranged behind Ramon, with the crew gathered beyond them in the prow. Cupid, who had undoubtedly been ordered to point the way to the cabin where Lorna was, now followed her topside and joined the others. Lorna moved to stand at Ramon's side, facing the fleet commander. The naval lieutenant stopped a pace behind her, while his detail ranged themselves on one side.

  Captain Winslow was a man of medium height with a craggy face half-concealed behind a brown beard that jutted out at an arrogant angle from his chin. Barrel-chested, he held himself erect with his hands clasped behind his back. As he looked Lorna over, his eyes burned with zeal, and there was in his expression something of the implacability of the Puritan faced with a suspected witch.

  "Miss Forrester, sir," the officer who had served as her escort said.

  "Humph." The commander cleared his throat before beginning. "According to my information, Miss Forrester, you are a known courier of the insurrectionist Confederate government, carrying dispatches destined for Davis. I demand that you give those documents into my possession."

  "I would be happy to comply, sir, if I had such things, but I'm afraid I haven't the least idea in the world what you are speaking of. May I ask who may have given you such vicious and erroneous information?"

  "You may not. And I warn you not to play games with me, Miss! I will not be taken in by an air of innocence or coquetry, however prettily done. You will turn over the papers you carry willingly, or I will have you searched for them. Is that understood?"

  Ramon took a step forward. "You are exceeding your authority. This is highly irregular. When did the United States government begin harassing ladies as a pastime.?"

  "This is no pastime, I assure you. The ladies of the South would be quite safe from harassment if they would stick to their embroidery and refrain from involving themselves in the conduct of this war. As to my authority, I assure you it is valid, though I see no reason to bandy words with an ex-officer of the United States Navy turned traitor!"

  "What happens, sir, if you are wrong?" Lorna asked, summoning an injured frown. "Who will restore my self-respect after being submitted to such an ordeal?"

  "You will have the apologies of the United States Navy, Miss Forrester," the commander said with heavy irony, "but I foresee no need for them. For the last time, will you volunteer the dispatches you are carrying or must we search for them?"

  "I have told you, I am not what you think. You have been misinformed. If I cannot convince you, then I am afraid you must do as you think best."

  Even as she made the small, poignant gesture of defenselessness that accompanied her consciously brave words, she was aware of Ramon's sharp glance in her direction. He knew that angry defiance was more in character for her than this fragile acceptance. What he did not realize was how important it was for their search to be cursory, if undertaken at all.

  "You leave me no choice," the commander said, his features hard. He nodded to the officer behind her. "Lieutenant Donavan, see to it."

  "No," Ramon stepped forward, putting his hand on Lorna's arm. "Couldn't this wait until you are ashore, where a woman could be brought in?"

  "And give Miss Forrester time to dispose of the dispatches? No. Lieutenant?"

  The lieutenant took a step toward her, then stopped, eying in something akin to dismay the bulky garments Lorna wore.

  "She will have to disrobe," the commander said with impatience. "Take her below
."

  "I will go with her," Ramon said.

  The commander's frown hardened and he lifted a brow. "I fail to see how the presence of another man will be of use to Miss Forrester. No. I require that you remain here. There are matters to be discussed concerning the cargo you carry, and then I am of a mind to go over this ship with the view of making her my flag vessel. That's if her speed and seaworthiness prove satisfactory, which I have no doubt they will. If everything is in order, you will be needed to see her free of the shoals."

  Ramon paid no attention, moving to Lorna's side as she turned toward the companionway. At a snapped order, the soldiers at the rail brought their weapons to the ready, pointed in his direction.

  "Need I remind you, Captain Cazenave, that you are my prisoner?"

  It was Lorna who came to an abrupt halt. "I think you had better do as he says," she said quietly. "I will be all right."

  "Chérie-"

  She made a quick, silencing movement. The visions that haunted him she could only guess at, but they could not be helped in any case. If the papers were not found, all would be well, but if they were it would be best if he were not present. She remembered too well, now, Sara Morgan's warnings. She would be sent to prison for a time, months or years, if she were discovered. For Ramon, however, the penalty would be death. Sara Morgan had also said she would be immune from search as a woman, and she had been wrong. What else she might be wrong about, Lorna did her best not to think.

  In the cabin once more, the officer held the door for her to enter. "This is new to me, Ma'am," he said, his hazel eyes troubled, "but I think it would be best if you were to take off your things and hand them out to me. If you will light a lamp and pass it out first, I'll be able to make my search out here."

  "Yes, I'll do that, Lieutenant Donavan," she said, real gratitude in her low tones. There were men to whom a woman, once she trespassed beyond the bounds normally reserved for her sex, was fair game. The ordeal before her might have been made much more unpleasant had the man been so inclined. It crossed her mind that his chivalry left much room for deceit, if such a thing had been necessary, but she pushed the realization from her. Removing her cloak, she put it in the lieutenant's hands, then stepped into the cabin.

  As she undid the buttons of her gown, Lorna heard thumping, thudding sounds vibrating through the ship. The soldiers were in the hold, examining the cargo, she thought. The Union armies would doubtless be able to make good use of the gunpowder and other arms and ammunition. It was to be hoped they had no use for bonnets. She thought of seizing the packet from its hiding place and pushing it out the porthole. If they could not find evidence of her guilt, they would be forced to release her, wouldn't they?

  Whether it was because of a reluctance to give up her mission for lost or of a simple need to deal fairly with the officer who had treated her with such courtesy, she did not make the attempt. Rather, she skimmed from her clothing with quick movements, passing it piece by piece out the door until she stood in her camisole and pantaloons. As she hesitated over handing them out, she heard a murmur of voices. After a few moments, a knock fell on the door.

  "Ma'am?"

  "Yes, Lieutenant?"

  "Beg your pardon, but the commander has sent orders that I am to do a body search."

  "A what!"

  "I'll be as quick as possible."

  He did not wait for a reply, but turned the handle of the door and stepped into the room. She backed away from him with her arms crossed over her breasts covered only by thin linen. There was a grim line to his mouth, and his face was beet-colored. His gaze was steady, determined, though focused on a point just above her head.

  "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but orders are orders. If you'll hold out your arms, like this," he said, demonstrating.

  The officer's embarrassment in some way mitigated her own. Lorna forced herself to comply. Her color was high, but her gray eyes steady as she watched his advance. A faint sheen of perspiration appeared on his face, and he swallowed, so that his Adam's apple bobbed. Still, he stepped closer, hands extended. As he touched her sides, he closed his eyes. With a quick, patting motion, he felt up under her arms, pausing the merest fraction of a second at the soft roundness of her breasts, then moved quickly back down along her waist and over the curves of her hips. He knelt, sliding his hands along first one leg, then the other, then came erect, stepping back as if from a hot stove.

  "I must ask you now to take down your hair," he said.

  She might have expected it, remembering Charlotte's comment about carrying messages in the coils of her tresses. Apparently it had been a favorite method of Sara Morgan. Lifting her arms, she removed the pins and let the shining, wild silk length slip, unfurling, down across her shoulders.

  "Is that satisfactory?" she asked, her voice tight.

  "Beautiful-I mean, that's all right, then., I…if you will tell me that…that an internal search is unnecessary, I'll swear it was done."

  If it was possible for the heated flush that spread over every inch of her body to become darker, it did. The only compensation was that his did the same. "I can assure you it isn't necessary."

  He nodded and, swinging around, dived from the room. Outside the door, he scooped up her clothing in his arms and thrust it toward her. "I'll leave you to dress while I report to the commander. And again, Miss Forrester, Ma'am, my most abject apologies."

  He left her as if it were he who had been released from surveillance instead of she. That there was no guard, and that he had not seen fit to post one, could have been taken as an indication either of her presumed frailty as a woman, or of his belief in her innocence. Lorna frowned over the omission as she righted her gown and petticoats, her hoop and corset, and got back into them. Now was the time to be rid of the packet, to throw hatbox and all out the porthole, she tried to tell herself, but could not bring herself to act. Instead, she put up her hair once more and slipped her cloak back on, preparing to mount to the deck.

  At a tap on the door, she glanced up sharply, then moved to open the panel. Lieutenant Donavan stood outside. He gave her a quick look, as if to be certain she was dressed once more, then directed his gaze over the top of her head again.

  "I have been detailed to guard you, Miss Forrester, and to institute a thorough search of your quarters."

  She should have known the Yankee commander would not be so lenient. She thought with irony of her earlier idea that her treatment left room for deception. There was nothing she could do now, however, except step back, allowing him to enter. She left the door swinging open and moved to take one of the chairs at the table, spreading her skirts around her. The officer stood irresolute, then stepped to Ramon's trunk and lifted the lid.

  There was a great noise of tramping feet and heavy thudding overhead. After a few minutes of watching the officer in blue lifting out Ramon's clothing, carefully going through it item by item, she spoke.

  "Is it permitted to ask what is happening?"

  "They are shifting the cargo aft, lightening the stern, hoping the ship can be backed off without having to jettison too much."

  "She wasn't damaged when she struck?"

  "An opened seam or two, nothing major. She'll float all right, if she can be freed, though we may have to wait until high tide."

  "Your commander has decided to use her as his flagship then?"

  "Yes, Ma'am. He's been waiting for a ship like her, something fast and sleek, like a race horse, that can chase down other runners. He's gone now to arrange for the transfer from his present ship to this one."

  "In the middle of the night?"

  "That's when we do most things these days, during the dark of the moon, at least. Besides, there may be another runner or two before dawn to chase and board. Good God, what's this?"'

  He had found the gold. "The captain's…uh, ill-gotten gains, I suppose you would call it."

  Whistling, he hefted a sack of the heavy, clinking coins. "I knew running the blockade was a money-making venture, but this sure b
rings home just how much of one."

  To be sitting there talking easily to a man who was the enemy, a Yankee, one moreover who had inflicted the humiliation of searching her was beyond belief. Strange things happened in time of war, strange affinities, strange sympathies. She did not have time to think about it, however. "I've heard it said that quite a few federal officers would like the chance to run the blockade if things were different. Does the idea appeal to you?"

  A boyish grin lit his features as he half-turned to face her. "They say it's like nothing else, more exciting and a better test of nerve than hunting, pig-sticking, steeplechasing, or big-game shooting. If I had a ship of my own, one like this one, I wouldn't mind trying it."

  The engines of the Lorelei began to strain in reverse. The paddle wheels thrashed. The ship shuddered through every bulkhead, and Lorna caught hold of the anchored table as the deck shifted, canting at an angle. The lid of the trunk fell, and the lieutenant only just got his arm out in time. He squatted, holding to the end of the bunk. Slowly, grindingly, the ship began to move.

  "She's going to make it," Lorna said in amazement.

  "She's made it," he answered, and it was true. The hard contact with earth was gone, and they were righting, floating free.

  It made no real difference. The moment of brief exultation over, her captor continued his search, moving to her own small trunk, which he examined minutely, kicking aside hatboxes as he stripped the bunk and meticulously made it back up again, shifted through the charts and papers kept in a small chest under the table, rifled through the books on the bookshelves. Lorna, watching him with a growing sense of strain, managed to continue to talk, but each time he set a hatbox out of his way, she could feel the tension inside her tighten, squeezing at her stomach until she felt ill.

  Turning from the bookcase, the lieutenant stared around him. His frowning attention lighted on the hatboxes at his feet. He picked one up, lifting the lid, peering inside. Clapping the lid under one arm, he began to pull at the tissue paper, letting it drift to the floor. He looked up as the door swung open, banging against the wall. Lorna swung, alarm coursing along her tense nerves.