“If you think that I would ever enjoy having you touch me—why, it makes me ill.”
He sighed. “What a cold Boston bitch you are,” he said conversationally. “Permit me to leave you alone with yourself, since that is the only company proper enough for you.”
She glared at him as he strode away. “I hate you! I hate you!” she muttered through clenched teeth.
She resumed her inspection of the ship, more determined than ever to find a hiding place. She found a small, high ledge near the brig where MacPherson and the guards sat in chains. She held a short, whispered conversation with the prisoners, but they could not help her, chained as they were. Nor was the ledge a good place to hide since it had no covering. At the top of the stairs leading to the sailors’ quarters, there was a tiny closet. She was able to squeeze inside it, and could even look out at the deck through the hole where the lock would have gone. But what use was it? That would probably be the first place they would look. What more obvious place to hide than a closet?
Sighing, she walked to the railing and looked out at the ocean. A heroine of any novel, she thought, faced with such a situation, would have dramatic hysterics (indeed, would have been having them for the past three hours) and hurl herself over the side. Suddenly she straightened—but what a perfect idea! She began to pace, deep in thought. It just might work, close as the closet was to the railing. If it did, it would at least slow them down for a few minutes, and perhaps even enable her to hide without being noticed at all.
She looked around her; there was no one near or looking in her direction. Calmly she untied the ribbons of her hat. With a last quick glance around, she tossed it into the ocean and hurried to the closet. Opening the door, she uttered a high, piercing shriek and darted inside, closing the door after her. Quickly she heard the thud of running feet and, from high above up in the sails, a voice calling, “Man overboard.”
“Good God, it’s her!” boomed a voice so close it made her jump. “That’s her hat in the water.”
Katherine quietly sank to her knees and peered through the keyhole. A knot of men were clumped at the railing; Fortner was tossing out a life preserver. She could feel the ship slowing and heard the sails being taken in. She smiled to herself—they believed it; they thought she was in the ocean with her bonnet. Hopefully they would waste a good deal of time looking for her and then, believing her dead, never bother to search the ship for her. She would be safe until the Navy arrived.
There was the thunder of a man running, and Hampton came into view.
“She’s overboard, sir,” Fortner said.
The captain paled. “Jesus Christ! That little fool!” Swiftly he pulled off his boots.
“Sir, you aren’t going in after her, are you?”
“Of course.”
“But, Captain, that water’s cold as ice. We don’t even know where she is; she hasn’t come up that we can see.”
“That heavy cloak and all those damned petticoats would pull her down.”
In one fluid motion he jumped up onto the railing, stood poised for a moment, then dove cleanly into the water.
“Put down a lifeboat, Mason,” Fortner ordered.
“Aren’t any, sir—they haven’t been put on board yet.”
“Damnation!”
Katherine watched the quiet, tense group of men until her neck and back ached from the strain of her position. Why was he persisting in swimming around in that freezing water? He’d catch pneumonia—if he didn’t drown.
“Sir!” Jenkins called. “You’d best come in now. It’s been over fifteen minutes. You couldn’t save her now. Grab the preserver and we’ll haul you in.”
They began to haul on the rope, and finally Hampton appeared and crawled over the railing to drop onto the deck, exhausted from battling the heavy northern seas. Unsteadily he rose to his feet, dripping wet and gasping for breath.
“Sir, you’ll die if you stay out here in this cold with those wet clothes on. Why don’t you go to your cabin and get those off?”
The man swung his face toward Fortner, and Katherine caught a glimpse of his weary face. The strange bleakness in his eyes almost made her gasp. Quickly she covered her mouth; this was no time to be discovered.
“Mason, check the ship; see if you can find any blankets or cloths so the captain can dry off. Try that closet there.”
“Yessir.”
With horror, Katherine watched him approach her closet. She scrambled to her feet and pressed herself back against the wall, but the door swung open, revealing her to the group of men. Mason’s hand dropped from the door handle and he stepped back as if he had seen a ghost. She looked at Hampton. He stood straight and still, his face cold, his eyes glittering like ice. Then he sprang forward and seized her wrist in his iron grasp.
“Damn you! What in the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing!”
Katherine felt numb with fear; desperately she wished that she had never come up with this idea.
“Do you realize that we thought you were dead? That I nearly drowned trying to save you?”
She gulped and willed herself to speak. Through frozen lips she said, “And do you realize how much time you have lost?”
His nostrils flared in anger and for a moment she thought he was about to strike her. Instead, he snapped, “Full sail, Fortner!” Then he turned on his heel and strode off to his cabin, dragging her with him. Wryly she thought that it was a good thing she was not a delicate woman, or her wrist would be crushed by now.
Once inside his quarters he slammed the door and with one quick motion of his arm flung her across the room. She thudded against the far wall, knocking the wind out of her, and sank to the floor.
“Damn it, woman, I’d like to throttle you with my bare hands!” he roared.
The pain in her shoulder where she had smashed into the wall turned her fear to anger, and, struggling for breath, she managed to gasp, “Well, I am very sorry that it so displeases you that I am alive.”
Water dripped from him, puddling on the floor, and involuntarily he shivered. “You scared the living hell out of me.”
“I can’t imagine why it should have mattered to you.”
“It is a little disconcerting to think that a woman has drowned herself rather than endure your attentions.”
“You needn’t worry,” Katherine said scornfully. “Believe me, I would not kill myself because of you!”
He simply stared at her, visibly struggling to suppress his rage.
“You ought to change clothes. You’ll catch your death of cold if you stand about in those wet garments.”
His eyes were splinters of ice. “I shouldn’t be surprised if I murder you myself before this is over.”
She tossed her head, feeling more confident; the worst of his anger had passed, and she could breathe again. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. It might be the other way around.”
He said nothing, but purposefully began to unbutton his shirt. Katherine stiffened and her eyes widened in fright. She had provoked him too much and now he was going to do that awful thing to her. Seeing her reaction, he grinned.
“No, my pet, I am not about to punish you by inflicting my horrible demonstrations of affection on you. I am simply trying to avoid pneumonia, as you suggested.” He wrung out his shirt, his eyes fixed tauntingly on her. “I’m afraid that little dip in the ocean has somewhat cooled my ardor.”
She couldn’t think of a suitable retort and so swung around to face the wall. What a crude man he was to undress right in front of her. Behind her she heard the wet slap as each of his soaked garments hit the floor, and fought the urge to sneak a look at him. It was an awful urge, she knew, but she had never seen the naked male body, and she was more than a little curious about it.
His footsteps approached, and then his voice sounded close behind her. “If you would be so kind as to lend me your cloak, madame, I would be far more comfortable, and you wouldn’t have to stare at the wall.”
She shrugged
and unfastened her cloak. Standing up, still without looking at him, she pulled it off and held it out behind her. He took it from her hand and retreated.
“All right,” he said, “it is safe for you to turn around now.”
Katherine turned and looked at him, then bit her lip in an unsuccessful attempt to keep from smiling. Though her cloak was quite plain, it was still obviously a lady’s cloak, and looked ridiculous on him, especially ending as it did just below his knees.
“I fail to see what is so amusing,” he said stiffly.
Katherine tried to choke back her laughter, but it tumbled out anyway. He stalked to the opposite end of the room and sat down, carefully wrapping the cloak around him.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Katherine said, though her grin would not be stifled. “It’s just that you look so—so silly in that.” She dissolved into laughter, made hysterical by the fear and tension bottled up within her for the past few hours.
He shot her a murderous glance and then pointedly closed his eyes against her. Eventually her laughter subsided, and she settled down on the floor against her wall. A battle of silence raged between them, finally broken by the entry of Peljo.
“Captain, brought you your boots and one of them Yank’s uniforms to put on.” He grinned at Katherine, obviously delighted at her escapade. “Glad to see you still among us, ma’am.”
“I wouldn’t be so damned amused if I were you, Peljo,” Hampton growled. “Since this little lady has managed nicely to cut our lead. Or do you want to return to a Yankee prison?”
“More likely a yardarm,” Peljo said cheerfully.
At a dark glance from the captain he forced his face into a more somber line, but winked at Katherine. As the captain stood to dress, Katherine once again turned to the wall. She didn’t turn back around until the slam of the door told her that they had left. Then she hurriedly donned her wrap again. If only there were a stove in the room—suddenly she felt cold and deserted and miserable. Before long the steady motion of the ship rocked her to sleep.
It was the cessation of motion that woke her. She blinked drowsily, trying to collect her wits. It was a moment before she realized what had awakened her. They were stopped, the only movement caused by the surge of the waves. Quickly she scrambled to her feet. Had her rescuers found them? She headed for the door, pausing only to grab her muff. Just as she stepped out the door, she met Ensign Fortner scurrying down the steps.
“Oh, Miss Devereaux, I was just coming to fetch you,” he said woodenly.
So, she thought with a flash of amusement, he too is highly offended by my ruse. These stiffnecked Southern men, angered not so much because she had delayed them as because she had tricked them, pulled the wool over their eyes.
“Indeed? Why?” she said coolly, raising her eyebrows.
“The captain wants to see you.”
“Oh, well, in that case, we must not delay, must we?” she said sarcastically.
Stiffly he stood aside to allow her to precede him up the narrow steps. She swept past him and at the top of the stairs did not pause to take his arm, but sailed right on to where Captain Hampton stood at the railing. Suddenly she gasped and went rigid—a ship on the horizon! Katherine ran to the railing and peered out anxiously over the sea.
“Who is it?” she asked eagerly. “Is she approaching us?”
“Hopefully,” Hampton said calmly.
She looked at him in amazement, then frowned in thought. Of course, he must have some trick up his sleeve. But what?
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you so cheerful at the idea of meeting a Union ship? And why aren’t you running instead of waiting for her like a sitting duck?”
“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he said lightly.
She bridled at the amusement in his voice, but before the hot words spilled out of her mouth, he went on, “Well, I shall explain it to you. Look up there.”
She raised her eyes to see the ship’s American flag flying upside down. “The distress signal,” she breathed.
“Very good. I have decided to take a leaf from Captain Read’s book. I think we need a faster, better-equipped ship, don’t you agree? But since we are unarmed and easily beaten in speed by almost anything on the water, open battle does not seem the best way to get one. What this vessel can do, however, is look very much like an innocent fisherman in trouble. If we’re lucky, we will be able to fool that ship and their master will board us, only to find himself a hostage. His loyal crew, not wishing to see his brains blown out, will then surrender. And voilà! You will have more luxurious sleeping quarters tonight.”
“Sounds rather chancy to me,” she said.
“But of course. That’s the fun of it.” He grinned down at her.
It occurred to her that his grin was demonic; the man must be insane. “But why did you want me on deck?” she asked.
“Don’t you think this Yankee uniform resembles that of a ship’s captain? I, you see, will play the part of the master of this fishing boat. And you, my dear, will play the part of my wife.”
“What!”
“Just think how the presence of a woman will add verisimilitude to our little drama—especially a woman so obviously a true blue New Englander. You’ll make us ruffians look downright respectable.”
“You must be crazy!” she blazed at him. “I will not participate in this trickery of yours! As soon as she’s close enough. I’ll scream and wave her off.”
“I suspected that might be your reaction. But you see, your frantic gestures will only convince him that we are in need of help. He will think that you have merely succumbed to feminine hysteria and are trying to get his attention. And when he gets close enough to hear you and see that your gestures are warnings, why I will simply put a husbandly arm around you—so.” He wrapped one arm around her, effectively pinning her arms to her sides. “And if you scream, I will tighten my grip and—with the aid of your corsets, of course—cut off your air. You will be unable to make a sound, and, moreover, will provide a most touching fainting scene.”
“Why, you—”
“Please, I’ve heard it from you before.”
She coldly turned her shoulder to him and stared out across the water at the other ship. She was under no illusion that he would fail to carry out his threat. No doubt he would quite happily crack a few of her ribs, to boot. She could return to her cabin and refuse to come up. But what would it accomplish? He would probably be able to trick the other ship without her assistance anyway, and she would have thrown away any chance to warn them. If she succeeded in warning them, they would probably just sail away, leaving her in the same predicament without consuming the time that would be taken up in boarding and overpowering the other ship. She was on the verge of giving in to him when it struck her that if she could warn them away, it would save their lives; whereas, if she didn’t, lives could be lost in taking over the clipper ship. And if he lived up to his reputation, it was quite possible that Hampton might slaughter them all once he gained control of their vessel. She couldn’t just callously leave them to their fate. She had to try to warn them off.
Hampton, looking at her, saw her eyes darken with thought. His mind was split between thinking what a lovely color they turned and wondering what plan she was cooking up. Angry as he was at her tricks and insults and mockery, he had grudging admiration for her. He could think of no other girl who would have the gumption and nerve to battle with him and try such an effective tactic to delay him. It would be quite a challenge to tame her, to defeat her, and yet win her over mentally and bodily. He touched her cheek, and she looked up at him, the sun turning her eyes the pale gold of some fine white wine.
At his quick intake of breath, she said, “What’s the matter?”
“I want you,” he said simply.
She blushed and looked away. “Please let me go,” she said in a small voice.
Gently he pulled her into his arms, and she found herself resting her head against his chest. His
strong arms wrapped protectively around her and he leaned his head down to whisper in her ear, “Don’t be so afraid, little one. I shan’t hurt you. Trust me.”
“Trust you!” She jerked away from him. “Trust a man who steals ships, who abducts girls and does physical violence to them? No, thank you. I’d rather trust a snake.”
He smiled and shrugged. “I never have understood a Yankee’s preference in companions.”
“Oh, shut up!” she snapped.
Chapter 7
Impatiently Katherine waited for the other ship to draw nearer; as it did so, she felt excitement build in her. She did not know that at the opposite end of the ship, Captain Hampton, despite his casual, almost languid expression, felt the same surge of anticipation. She gripped the railing and watched the other ship and savored the new feeling. She had longed for something more exciting, more strenuous—well, here it was. She had to grasp the chance now, while it was offered; surely there would never be another one. In a way, it almost seemed a dream come true: the ship beneath her feet, the wild band of sailors, the approaching fight. Even the Rebel captain fit in; after all, how could one struggle without an opponent and where would the excitement be if there were no danger?
So intent was she on her own emotions that she scarcely noticed when Hampton came to stand beside her. Lazily he leaned against the railing and joined her in gazing at the approaching ship.
“I think, my dear,” he said, “that it is time we strolled down toward the middle of the ship; we must station ourselves where we are most clearly seen.”
She sent him a withering look, but obediently took his arm to walk back. When they came to a halt, she remained quietly at his side, her hand still in the crook of his elbow. He tensed when she withdrew a dainty handkerchief from a pocket of her dress, but she used it only to wave circumspectly at the other ship. He almost roared with laughter; she looked just like a proper lady waving very correctly to the boats in a race. What a cool one she was; that was the perfect touch for a New England seacaptain’s wife.
The clipper signaled them, inquiring as to their trouble. Hampton, having no equipment, was unable to signal back. The other ship seemed at a loss, but soon lowered a longboat, carrying the captain, a civilian, and sailors to row the boat.
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