Surrender in Moonlight

by Jennifer Blake

  Nate flung a vicious glance at the first ship, then turned on his heel and stamped off to the wheelhouse, where he consulted with the captain. An order was given, relayed over the ship, and behind Lorna came the thud of fast-moving men. They jostled around her, carrying heavy loads. As she looked around, what she saw made gooseflesh prickle over her scalp. They were making ready to fire the Parrott gun.

  The officer in charge stepped before her, executing a sketchy bow. "Could we ask you to please stand aside?"

  Lorna hardly noticed his failure to use a courtesy title. She stumbled a little as she moved down the railing. The Bonny Girl was coming on with smoke pouring from her stack, unaware of the danger. Soon, she would be in range. Peter could not guess the ship he was chasing was armed. If only there was some way she could warn him.

  "Steady," she heard the gunnery officer warn. "Wait until she's too close to miss."

  Lorna was trembling, the tips of her fingers white where they clutched the nailing. For the first time in some minutes, she looked beyond Peter's ship to where the other was growing larger. A small cry escaped her, though it carried more despair than joy. The second ship, gaining by degrees, with black smoke pouring from her stack, indicating its use of some other fuel besides coal, perhaps cotton soaked in turpentine, was close enough to be identified. Steaming in pride and dancing grace, steering down the wake of the Bonny Girl, it could be none other than the Lorelei.

  "Sail away!"

  Lorna's head jerked around at the call. She saw the lookout pointing to the west. She swung in that direction, squinting against the flooding light, and saw the new ship. It came straight out of the sunset, with blood-red light behind her, making her sails glow. Huge, armed to the teeth, bearing straight down on them all, it was a federal frigate.

  It was as if every man on the three steaming blockade runners were blind to their danger. None of the ships altered course to avoid this new menace. They steamed on, their smoke staining the sky, their paddle wheels spinning, leaving frothing foam on the water turning deepest blue with depth and the twilight. Lorna's heart beat with sickening strokes. She could scarcely breathe. The tension building inside her made her want to scream, to cry, anything to relieve it. She clenched one fist, holding it to the pit of her stomach.

  Nate, now grim and silent, came to stand behind her. They leaned on the rail for interminable minutes, watching the racing ships. The Bonny Girl drew nearer, and nearer still. Finally, she heard Nate growl under his breath, "Now, damn it, now."

  The Parrott gun roared. The shell burst over the other ship. Lorna screamed as she saw splinters fly from the decking and a man tossed from one rail to the other as if he weighed no more than a stuffed toy. Smoke enveloped the ship, and she saw the bow swinging as the helm was put over. The gun crew moved to the rapid fire of orders, and once more the air was blasted by the heat and concussion of the gun. The shot flew wide, skipping across the water like a stone over a mill pond. Smoke drifted, chokingly, over the ship. Again came the order. The Parrott gun, extremely accurate at that range, belched smoke and flame and spiraling shell.

  The hit staggered the Bonny Girl, catching her nearly amid-ship. An enormous gash appeared in the ship's side. Smoke boiled, flames leaped, and even from where they stood could be heard the screams of the wounded. Then, there came a rumbling like thunder. It grew, spreading in shock waves, rolling over the water. Suddenly, the stricken ship exploded, the decks erupting, spewing in splinters into the air as it broke apart. Smoke boiled black and acrid into the sky, shot with leaping, soaring flames.

  Gunpowder. Peter had already reloaded for his next run, and his cargo had been barrels of gunpowder. Even as the Avenger pulled away, they could feel the heat of the fire, were staggered by the surge of the waves from the concussion. Stunned, too shocked to move or make a sound, Lorna watched as the ship began to list, filling with water from the gaping hole in her waist, going down. Behind the Bonny Girl, she saw Ramon's ship dropping behind, beginning to circle the doomed vessel even as the hands swarmed to the sides to swing out the boats.

  The Lorelei was giving up the chase. There were men in the water now, men burned, injured, in danger of drowning. Ramon was going to their aid. In honor, he could do no less.

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  Chapter 20

  The last orange edge of the sun sank into the sea, and the sudden tropical night descended. The burning ship grew smaller and dropped away behind them. Nate and his captain conferred, staring anxiously into the night as the Avenger plunged over the waves. With the last of the daylight, however, the federal cruiser had been seen making for the sinking ship and the runner delaying to pick up survivors.

  Nate's fears were well-grounded, Lorna felt as she thought of it. For all his bragging about cooperation with the federals, his ship was obviously rigged out as a runner, and an armed one at that. It was probable that a conscientious northern naval commander would blast him from the sea without giving him time to argue his service to the federal cause. True, the crew members stood ready to fly the United States flag, but would the cruiser bother to look for such a thing in the dark; or, seeing it, consider it anything more than a ruse on a ship painted pale gray?

  Such thoughts served to occupy her mind, to prevent her from dwelling on what might be taking place with the ships they had left in trouble. Men were dying there in the night and the surging salt waves, men she had known, with whom she had spoken, laughed, danced. Was one of them Peter? Could his quick humor and charm be extinguished so easily? She knew the answer. It was one that had to be recognized each time a newssheet appeared with lists of casualties printed on its pages.

  Above the splash and rush of their progress, she listened for the sound of renewed firing. She scanned the faint line where the ocean met the sky for the flash of guns. Each passing moment of quiet, of darkness, was a boon, one she prayed desperately would continue.

  When Nate clamped his fingers on her arm, pulling her from her post at the railing, she fought him. It was blasphemy, a peculiar arrogance, but it seemed in that moment that if she failed to keep watch, to retain her concentration on the safety of the men who had followed her, that they would be left unprotected, exposed to certain death.

  Nate ignored her struggles, half-carrying, half-dragging her with him to his cabin. He shoved her inside, then slammed the door upon her. She lunged back at it, beating with her fists on the thick panel, choking with rage and distress. From the other side, even above the noise of her frantic pounding, she heard the oiled snap of the key turning in the lock, shutting her in alone in the dark cabin.

  That small sound brought the return of some semblance of sanity, and with it came control. She stepped back, then whirled, moving to the porthole, twisting the latch, flinging the glass open so that she could see and hear.

  She was still there some time later when the key rattled once more in the door, signaling Nate's return. He paused in the doorway with a tray in one hand, his attitude wary as he surveyed her position with the help of the light from a dim lantern in the passage. Satisfied, he moved to set the tray, containing what appeared to be ham and eggs, on the small corner table. Keeping an eye on her, he reached up to light the lamp that swung in its gimbals above it, then turned to lock the door again.

  Lorna did not move until he came toward her. What was the use, here on this ship out on the seas, surrounded by his men? She stepped aside, holding her skirts from him, but he only closed the porthole and drew the short, black curtains that hung on either side across it to block the light.

  "Sit down and eat," he said, his tone derisive. "You're going to need your strength."

  "I couldn't."

  "Suit yourself."

  He swung toward the table and seated himself, pulling the tray toward him. Lorna watched him fork a bite of ham into his mouth and cut into the fried egg that lay on the single plate the tray contained. The yolk ran yellow-gold, oozing out into the ham grease, and she turned sharply away with nausea rising in
her throat.

  She could feel his gaze upon her in avid anticipation, whetted, she thought, by the carnage he had witnessed and the danger in which they had stood. She sent a quick glance around the cabin, but could see nothing that might serve as a weapon or even as a barricade against him. She thought of Ramon, then wrenched her mind away. She could not depend on him; there was no one she could depend upon except herself.

  For a brief moment, she weighed the possibility of acquiescence. It would be less dangerous. Lately, she had begun to suspect she had a special need to take care. She was so often assailed by illness, just as she had been moments before, and there were other signs. It would be natural enough under the circumstances. She had, until now, been able to push aside the idea as a complication it would be best not to face until absolutely necessary. It was necessary now.

  But, could she bear it? Could she lie and allow Nate Bacon to touch her as Ramon had done? His would be no gentle wooing; of this she was well aware. Could she control her aversion to his cruel caresses? Could she support his brute invasion of her body without going mad with disgust?

  "Are you fretting about Cazenave? He was most likely blown to pieces. The sharks will have a feast. They infest these waters, you know, and the smell of blood attracts them like perfume does a man."

  Sharks. She had not considered. An instant later, his words struck her.

  "You seem to be under a misapprehension," she said, revolving slowly in her wide skirts to give him a twisted smile. "The ship you sank was not the Lorelei."

  He gave a nod and a grunt. "Oh, I knew, my dear, since the man I hired as captain of this ship pointed it out to me, but I wasn't certain you did."

  "I knew," she answered stonily.

  "Yes. And, you know your lover is being chased over the seas by a federal cruiser while he is burning precious coal he can ill afford, being hurried to his inevitable surrender as he steams. farther and farther away from you to escape."

  "That is your most fervent hope, at any rate," she returned, her tone tart as a defense against the pain of the picture he presented.

  He pointed his fork at her, his voice grating as he spoke. "I've told you before, I'm not afraid of. Cazenave."

  "No? "I’m sure I would be in your place. You cheated his father in a crooked card game in order to get your hands on Beau Repose, then hired men to set upon M'sieur Cazenave as he rode to repay his debt to you. And, when it looked as if he might still find the means to save his son's inheritance, you caused a crevasse that flooded his acres, ruining him, bringing about his death. Ramon knows this, and someday he will see that you pay."

  Blood rushed purple to his face as she spoke. "Is that what he told you?"

  "Yes." Ramon had made no threats, but it would not hurt if Nate thought he had.

  "And, you believe him?"

  "Why should I not? It makes perfect sense to me, since you used a similar ploy to force my uncle's consent to my marriage to your son. I don't believe Uncle Sylvester would have agreed, if he had not been in debt to you, his wealthy benefactor, and if the warehouse holding the cotton that would have been used to pay you off had not burned."

  "An unfortunate accident," Nate sneered. "I did suggest he insure his yield."

  She studied him. "l'm sure you did, in such a manner that it would have seemed lacking in spirit, not equal to the proper daring of a southern gentleman, if he had complied. I heard him talking about it once to Aunt Madelyn, you see."

  "You judge me harshly," he said, wiping egg from his mouth with the handkerchief he took from his jacket pocket, using it to clean his fingers with fastidious gestures, his eyes shrewd as he watched her.

  "What did you expect? I know that of all the things you have done, there is none so despicable as what you did to Franklin. He thought you were bringing home a wife for him, while all the time you were intent on a mistress for yourself. Franklin, your own son, was the biggest dupe of all."

  "That's not true! I let him have you."

  He threw down the handkerchief, scowling as if her words had pricked him for the first time. His pale blue eyes were as hard as marbles. His silver-brown hair, greasy with pomade, had been loosened from its careful pompadour by the wind, and was falling over his ears.

  She laughed, a brittle sound. "So you did, or very nearly. Was I supposed to be so grateful when you took me from him that I would fall into your arms? Your attitude toward me changed a bit when I was found with Ramon, didn't it? You were not going to be satisfied to wait quite so long. How glad I am that I went riding that day, that I met Ramon Cazenave and discovered what love between a man and a woman could be. Otherwise, I would never have known."

  He pushed his half-eaten meal back, coming slowly to his feet. "I would have shown you, given you jewels, silks, anything you wanted. I was crazed with wanting you."

  "As a possession, the same way you wanted Beau Repose. Like a thief, you went after both in the only way you could ever have them, without thought for the pain you would cause."

  "I got them. I had Beau Repose for as long as I wanted the place, and now that I've finally laid hands on you, I'll have you the same way."

  He came at her, a satisfied smile on his face, as if he expected her to be mesmerized into allowing him to do with her as he pleased. She evaded him in a whirl of skirts, backing away.

  "You won't have me so easily, and even if you do manage it, you will regret it; I will see to that. I have a score to settle with you for passing on the movements of the Lorelei, and my own. I haven't forgotten, nor will I forget anything you may add to it."

  He gave a rough laugh, moving after her. "l'm trembling."

  "You may be stronger now, but you have to sleep. That's something you should remember."

  "Serve me any tricks, and you'll regret it."

  "Not if you are dead."

  "You think I don't know Franklin's death was an accident? You couldn't do it again, not in cold blood."

  She gave him a chill smile. "It's your life you are wagering on the possibility."

  "But, I know just how to handle bitches like you." He lunged, snatching her arm, jerking her forward, so she stumbled against him. She twisted her shoulder, bending to free one hand. Immediately, she struck for his eyes, clawing at his face as he snapped his head backward. Her nails ripped down his cheek and into the skin of his neck. He slapped her, a vicious blow, and she knotted her fist, bringing it up from below her waist to slam it into his mouth. She had the pleasure of seeing his lips split against his teeth before he threw her from him. Her elbow cracked against the end of the bunk, numbing her right arm to the fingertips as she fell across the mattress.

  He flung himself after her. She bounced up, dragging at the pillow with her good left hand, sending it flying into his face. He swept it aside, plunging after her. His fingers closed on the puffed sleeve of her gown, ripping it from the shoulder. She tore free, dancing away from him, massaging her arm. Brushing the wall beside the door, she set Nate's extra coat and shirts to swaying. She grabbed them, slinging them at him even as she whirled along the wall in desperate haste. He ducked under the coat and snatched a shirt from his head, diving after her. His groping hands caught at her waist, sliding along her abdomen, and he cursed the corset that kept his fingers from finding purchase on her tightly laced rib cage.

  The edge of his dinner tray on the small table slid as her skirts struck it. Instantly, she picked it up, hurling it at him. He snarled another oath, throwing up an arm. The plate it still held struck his wrist, flipping up, and egg yolk splattered his face. He swabbed at it in disbelief, then with a roar, he charged her.

  She caught the back of the light chair, flinging it in his path. As he swerved around it, cursing as a leg scraped his shin, she tipped the table and shoved it in front of him. He leaped over it and she tried to dodge around him, but the upturned table and the bulk of his body left no room. He snaked an arm around her waist, throwing her back, and she was trapped in the corner.

  She twisted and turne
d, writhing in his grasp. He caught her free wrist, turning it, so that agony gripped her. Her hair, piled so loosely on her head, shifted, sliding from its pins that rained upon the floor. She kicked at him, and he pushed her against the wall, driving her into it with the weight of his body, so that the lamp above them shuddered in its gimbals, casting swaying shadows on the cabin walls. The breath was driven from her lungs, and with a sharp, gasping cry, she was still.

  Taking instant advantage of that moment of weakness, he fastened his fingers on the neckline of her gown, pulling it off her shoulders, dragging it lower to expose the full globes of her breasts. He bent his head to fasten his hot mouth on one peak, setting his teeth into the vibrant softness. Her cry of pain, the arching of her back as she tried to avoid him, seemed to excite him. He pressed closer, so that the hard thrust of his desire for her could be felt through his trousers, through the layers of her skirts and hooped crinoline, which he compressed against the wall.

  "I’ll have you here, standing up, like the street-corner whore you are," he muttered.

  He leaned to drag at her skirts, lifting the bottom steel band of her hoop to her waist, so that her petticoats bunched upward, feeling under it for the tape of her pantaloons. She pushed at him, but his weight pinned her in place. On her breasts was a smear of blood from his cut lip, and the sight of it sent a shiver of revulsion over her. That shudder was followed by another, and another. She shoved harder, and he slammed his shoulder into her chest. Again, the lamp above them trembled.

  Her eyes dark with anguish, she looked up. If she stretched out her right hand, she could reach the base of the lamp. It was brass, and heavy, and she was not sure she could hold it with her numb fingers, but she had to try. He was tugging at the waist of her pantaloons, clawing at the soft skin of her abdomen as he tried to break the tapes that were cutting into her. Soon they must give, and then….