Chaos seemed to erupt around the Chimera. Men were barreling down Main Street and lining up along the Point, muskets in hand. Ryan felt as if he were having a bizarre dream as he watched the villagers load their one viable weapon, a four-pound cannon.
Meanwhile, flames shot up from the vessel that was under construction next to the Chimera. The British were returning Pettipauge's attack with their own cannonades, and British marines lined up along the barges to deliver a volley of musket fire.
"Captain, what shall we do?" cried Drew, the Chimera's first mate.
Ryan leaned against the main mast and smiled crookedly. "There isn't a thing anyone can do. We're at anchor; we can't position ourselves to return fire, and you know it. They're prepared and we aren't." It galled him to admit defeat without a struggle, but he was a pragmatist. He'd never attacked without knowing that the odds were in his favor and thus had never lost. Ryan knew every member of his crew and he wasn't prepared to see even one killed for a futile point of pride.
The cannon fire had come to a stop on the Point. The men, realizing that it was hopeless, laid down their muskets to indicate that they would offer no further resistance. Even from a distance, Ryan could see the burning frustration in their eyes.
"Captain, look!" Drew exclaimed at his shoulder.
Coleraine glanced back, then followed his first mate's pointing finger to the flames that were spreading over the deck of the nearly completed ship next to the Chimera. It had promised to be Andre Raveneau's finest accomplishment, a privateer that Ryan had been forced to admit would surpass even his own sleek and beautiful vessel.
"I know, Drew, it's a damned shame, but you may as well brace yourself. I fear we're destined to lose the Chimera as well—and every other ship at anchor in Pettipauge."
"That's not what I mean! Look, near the stern! There's a boy trying to douse the fire!"
Ryan surveyed the neighboring craft through his brass telescope. Drew was right. A boy was crouching on the quarterdeck, heaving a wooden bucket of water into the flames on the gun deck below. He wore a sailor's knit cap pulled low, but coppery curls escaped from the sides, and there was something about the profile of the boy's face and the shape of his legs and hips that made Ryan's insides knot with foreboding.
Turning to the first mate, he said, "I'm going to remove that boy from the ship. I ought to be all right alone but stand by to assist me."
There was a momentary lull in other activity as the British organized for the row to shore. Grimly, Ryan sprinted down the Chimera's gangplank and boarded the adjoining vessel. Through the billowing smoke and leaping flames, he discerned the slight figure of the ship's would-be savior coming toward him.
"Come on! Are you trying to kill yourself?"
The boy was choking on the smoke and had one arm over his eyes as he staggered forward with the cumbersome bucket. "Can't let it burn!" he croaked.
Ryan grasped the thin arm. "You're coming with me!" His own eyes burned from the smoke and he could barely make out the boy's face.
"Let go!" Fiercely, the boy wrenched free and, pulling off his coat, began batting the spreading flames. The coat caught fire, sending orange flames licking toward the boy's pale, sooty face. Just then a steely arm came around his midsection, hoisting him into the air. "Let me be!" he shrieked.
"I have no intention of watching you burn to death, you little fool," Coleraine ground out, hoisting the slim form over his shoulder and fighting his way through the flames and smoke toward the gangplank. His struggle was complicated by the flailing legs of his captive and the fists that rained ineffectual blows against his back. "Stop that, you hellion, before I toss you in the river and let the British fish you out!"
"They couldn't be worse villains than you!" came the furious reply.
Returning to the Chimera was an ordeal, but finally Ryan was back on his own quarterdeck. Harvey and Drew stepped forward to relieve him of his burden. The boy continued to struggle wildly against the restraining grips on each arm while Ryan rubbed his eyes and sighed. Finally, with slow deliberation, he reached out and removed the knit cap, freeing cascades of luxuriant golden-rose curls.
"I feared as much," he murmured, arching a brow. "Miss Raveneau, do you really think it safe to venture out of the house so late at night? I doubt that your parents would approve."
Chapter 2
April 8, 1814
"Kindly tell your henchmen to loose me!" Lindsay cried angrily. Drew and Harvey were already backing away from her, staring in consternation. When their captain cocked his head slightly to one side, they were glad to remove themselves from the confrontation.
"I would like a word with you in private," Ryan told her coolly, his eyes sweeping Lindsay's male garb, which did little to conceal the feminine curves of her body.
"You have no right!" she protested, even as his fingers closed around her elbow and he masterfully steered her toward the hatch.
"I think your father would disagree, Miss Raveneau."
Realizing that she had little choice, Lindsay saved her tirade for the privacy of the captain's cabin. Ryan said nothing as he guided her along the narrow gangway, pausing only once to pluck from the bulkhead a lantern that provided weak, flickering light once they reached his darkened cabin.
"I would offer you a glass of sherry, but somehow this occasion doesn't seem to call for a display of manners," he remarked sardonically, setting the lantern on the table next to them.
"I seriously doubt that you have manners to display, Captain!" Lindsay shot back. "However, I did not allow myself to be dragged down here to discuss your lack of breeding. How dare you interfere in my efforts to save Papa's ship?"
Ryan's Irish temper flared brighter, but he clenched his teeth in an effort to hold it in check. "My dear Miss Raveneau, I have neither the time nor the inclination to engage in an argument with you. Let me say simply that I feel certain your father would be the first person to thank me for removing his daughter from a situation that was not only life-threatening but incredibly foolhardy and—"
"And what?"
"Forget it."
"I see. You are not only ill-mannered but also too cowardly to say what you think."
"Oh, believe me, it is an exercise of will for me not to say exactly what I think of your stupid behavior!"
Lindsay knew a powerful urge to slap his bearded face. "Stupid! Stupid? How dare you? I was only trying to protect my father's property, and if you were half the man you pretend to be, you'd have saved me the trouble instead of standing by like a half-wit while those redcoats maneuvered to destroy every Raveneau ship in the harbor!"
His hand caught her forearm, and blue eyes blazed down at Lindsay. "What do you suppose would have happened if I trotted over to join you in throwing buckets of water on that fire? If, between us, we had even succeeded in putting it out? Would the British have thrown up their hands and given up?" Ryan laughed harshly. "Ridiculous. They'd have simply removed us from the ship, quite possibly by killing us, and torched it all over again. The unfortunate truth is that there isn't a single defense anyone can wage tonight. The British have planned and executed a successful sneak attack, the aim of which is to destroy every ship at the Point. A girl dressed in breeches with a few buckets of water could not deter them."
"You had no right to interfere!" Lindsay cried in frustration. "I refuse to play the coward and surrender! At least we could fight back!"
"I can see that you're in no mood to listen to reason." Ryan started to turn away, then paused to stare down at her, his eyes softening. "It's certainly hard to believe that the proper schoolmistress I met this afternoon could have been transformed within hours into a raving, bloodthirsty rebel clad in dirty breeches!"
His amusement made Lindsay burn with hatred. "I'm not raving—and these breeches were clean! They're my brother's. And—where are you going?"
"I'd love to continue this riveting conversation, Miss Raveneau, but duty calls." He was walking toward the door.
"But wha
t about me?"
"I think you'd better stay down here until we're ready to leave the ship. For your own safety, of course."
Rushing forward, Lindsay caught his arm. "You can't do this! My father will be furious!"
Ryan shook her off as if she were a kitten. "I doubt that. And if I were you, I'd use this time to compose myself. Strive to behave like an adult rather than one of your eight-year-old students."
He went out then and Lindsay heard a key turn in the polished brass lock. Loathing boiled up inside her. She nearly gave vent to a wild scream but held it in when she realized it would probably amuse that uncouth Irishman to hear her lose the last vestige of control.
Lindsay suddenly realized that, until this morning, she hadn't known what hatred was. Never in her life had anyone dared to treat her so rudely, and never had she felt such raw anger. If she were male, Lindsay decided, she would challenge Ryan Coleraine to a duel and aim straight for his heart.
"I might do it, anyway," she muttered, pacing in the lantern-lit cabin like a caged tiger. "Odious, high-handed, arrogant, vain, uncivilized man!"
* * *
Dawn lent an incongruous beauty to the sight of the British landing at the foot of Main Street. Under the cover of darkness, Ryan Coleraine had overseen efforts to remove everything of value from the Chimera. The warehouse Andre Raveneau had built to store his ships' goods was located farther around the Point than the others, and Ryan held out hope that it would escape any pillaging the British might do. Ryan surmised that the townspeople's awareness of the attack meant that an alarm had been raised, and the British would have little time to waste if they intended to get safely back to their ships in the sound.
Now as the landing craft disgorged what appeared to be nearly three hundred redcoats onto Main Street, it was clear to Ryan that his time on the Chimera was ending. Anger burned in his gut like a fiery coal, but reason told him that resistance would only endanger the lives of his crew and the townspeople as well.
The sun, bright and juicy as a freshly cut orange, rose over the Lyme hills across the Connecticut River. Ryan was oblivious to its beauty, though, as he motioned Drew to join him on the quarterdeck.
"The men should leave the ship now. Why don't you see to it, Drew."
"Yes, sir." The slim young man looked pale and lost. He wanted to cry: What happens to us now? Is it over? Will there be another ship? Have we lost our home, our trade, our lives? Will we have to find a new port and sign on with a new captain? Drew felt sick at the thought. The Chimera had been home and family to them, and Ryan Coleraine was the fairest, smartest, and most daring captain alive. At least his crew thought so.
"For the moment, we will deal with today," Ryan said softly.
Drew blinked, astonished that he had taken the time to discern his thoughts. "Yes, sir."
"After Captain Raveneau returns and I speak to him, I'll call you and Harvey together for a drink. The prospects aren't good, but we can at least toast past exploits, eh?"
Tears crowded Drew's throat. Coleraine was staring down the river, toward the sound rather than at the red columns flowing up Main Street. A chilly dawn breeze ruffled his black hair, and Drew thought that the captain's rakishly handsome profile was accentuated by an air of sorrow.
"I'll see to the crew, sir. And, sir?"
Ryan glanced down at the young man's earnest face and flinched inwardly. "Yes, Drew?"
"I'll look forward to making those toasts with you."
Rather than suffer eye contact with each departing member of the crew, Ryan decided to subject himself to what would doubtless be an even more bitter dose of Lindsay Raveneau's temper. When he lowered himself through the hatch and jumped lightly down to the gangway, ignoring the ladder, tears stung Ryan's eyes as he realized that soon all this lovingly polished wood would be ashes. He was counting on Lindsay to distract him from the sharp pangs of grief that were becoming more painful by the moment.
Entering the cabin, he found her sitting in the bowbacked chair in front of his desk, asleep. Though her back remained straight, her breasts thrusting against the white fabric of her brother's shirt, Lindsay's head had dropped to one side. Looking at the silken spill of curls that fell over her right arm, Ryan decided that her hair was nearly the same color as the leaves of the sugar maple in autumn. Quite amazing, even to an Irishman who had grown up with red-haired girls. Lindsay's was different, it seemed... or perhaps it was she who was different.
Ryan shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Would he ever sleep again? Sighing, he looked around the cabin. Harvey had come down and packed most of his things, removing them from the Chimera along with everything else of value. The bottle of Irish whiskey still nestled in its bulkhead niche, however, and now Ryan reached for it, drew out the cork, and indulged in a long, fiery swallow.
His gaze returned to Lindsay. Her guarded, upright sleep posture made him smile. He allowed himself the luxury of admiring the provocative curve of her lower lip and the sweep of her lashes against creamy, soot-smudged cheeks.
Ryan's smile took a cynical twist as he thought, It's damned lucky we don't get along. This woman could be dangerous.
After replacing the whiskey, he touched Lindsay's arm. Her eyes flew open instantly, her head came up, and she stiffened.
"Time to go," Ryan said shortly.
She adopted an air of frosty reserve. "Would you do me the courtesy of telling me what has been happening in the world above this cell you locked me in?"
In spite of his exhaustion and despair, Coleraine was amused by the sight of her, smudged and disheveled in her boy's garb, lifting her nose and addressing him in queenly tones. However, he knew that if he smiled now it would be like lighting a keg of gunpowder.
"It's dawn. The British have landed in an orderly fashion and are marching into the village. It's my understanding that they will not harm anyone unless provoked. I suppose that their commanding officer will speak to the townspeople and then see to it that the ships are burned."
Lindsay bit back a fresh tirade. She wanted to see and hear for herself what was happening in town but realized that Coleraine would never allow it if he suspected that she might make a scene. Lifting her chin, she said coolly, "I'm ready to go, then, if you are."
Ryan put out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it. Gingerly, Lindsay rose and stretched, looking around. "I don't suppose you have any water? I'm awfully thirsty."
"Sorry, no. Just some whiskey." He inclined his dark head toward the bottle.
It seemed a suitable outlet for her rebelliousness. Uncorking the bottle, she observed, "For a ship's captain, you certainly have barren quarters!" Her eyes were fixed on the empty bookshelves as she decided that here was final proof that the man was a boor.
"I would offer you a glass, Miss Raveneau, but my steward packed all my things less than an hour ago. Didn't you hear him? We were fortunate enough to remove everything on board of value to your father's warehouse. I hope that the constraints of time and space will force the British to confine their crimes to the ships, leaving the warehouses untouched."
Lindsay flushed, embarrassed to realize that she had slept so soundly she hadn't been aware of the steward's activities in the cabin. She had slept right through a perfect opportunity for escape! Ryan was watching her, one black brow arched slightly, so she lifted the bottle and swallowed bravely. The whiskey was like liquid fire coursing down her throat, and the next thing Lindsay knew she was coughing and then choking, tears gathering in her eyes.
Ryan patted her on the back with mock solicitude and relieved her of the bottle.
"This is poison!" she accused, gasping for breath.
"I beg to differ," he countered mildly. "You have just tasted the very finest Irish whiskey."
"Irish! No wonder it isn't fit for proper human beings!"
"Careful now, Lindsay. You know that we barbaric Irish are famous for our ungovernable tempers. You and I are all alone on the ship and I doubt that you want to discover what I'm capable of when
aroused." He couldn't help the twinkle that danced in his dark blue eyes. "Or do you?"
Her cheeks flamed. "I will not dignify such a base speech with a response." She swept past him to the door, then turned back to deliver another icy setdown only to discover that Ryan was grinning. Trying to ignore the appealing sight of white teeth against his trim black beard and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, Lindsay declared, "You are the rudest man alive! And"—she drew herself up to her full height—"I have not given you permission to address me by my Christian name."
Ryan laughed aloud at that. "Well, it's plain that my sins are so numerous that there's no hope of redemption." He gestured toward the gangway with an ironic flourish. "Shall we go, Miss Raveneau?"
* * *
Standing on the Point, Lindsay placed delicate hands on her hips and glared at the British seamen who remained behind with the landing craft. They stared back, obviously curious about this beautiful girl got up as a scruffy boy. Her hair was the color of the sunrise, a glorious mane of tangled curls framing a pale, fine-boned face that featured great dark eyes and smudges of ash. She wore a loose linen shirt haphazardly tucked into ill-fitting breeches. The redcoats' eyes roamed the girl's body as they wondered how such masculine attire could still accentuate the female shape. There was something provocative about the way that loose shirt blew against her curves, and it was exciting to see such long, shapely legs displayed in breeches rather than being hidden under a gown.
"What are you savages staring at?" Lindsay demanded. "If I had a musket, I'd shoot you all!"
This prompted the Englishmen to look at each other in astonishment, then engage in a great deal of whispering.
Ryan Coleraine took in the drama on shore as he descended the gangplank to join his charge. One side of his mouth quirked upward; in a strange way, he was thankful for all the trouble Lindsay had caused since the appearance of the British three hours earlier. She'd been relentless in her unconscious efforts to distract him from a tragedy which he was powerless to stop, and she'd even given him moments of amusement.
Surrender the Stars Page 3
