by Regan Walker
The woman who called herself Kit laughed and, facing her husband, said, “I see your brother has not changed, Martin. A rogue as charming as ever.” Nick didn’t know about the charming part but he’d not deny he’d often played the rogue.
They walked into Martin’s cabin, where the smell of fresh coffee greeted them. “When did you two marry? Were the parents there?” Nick was thinking he’d missed a major family gathering.
“Just before we went to the Midlands, and no, the parents were still at sea with our two younger brothers. Kit has not yet met our parents or the twins. Only Lord Ormond and his lady and a few friends attended.”
“Well, we can certainly celebrate now,” Nick enthused. “And there is someone I’d like you both to meet as well.”
Kit poured them coffee and Nick spent the next hour with his brother and sister-in-law recounting all that happened since leaving London, including the vicious storm and the pirates, but leaving out a few parts of the story that concerned Tara. He was surprised to learn Martin and his wife had become embroiled in a rebellion in the Midlands, but then, knowing his brother was a spy for the Crown, he supposed he should have expected some misadventure. It appeared both of them had led an interesting life since they’d last been together.
After Nick explained his desire to wed Tara, his brother shook his head and remarked to his wife, “I can’t believe my big brother has finally succumbed to be leg shackled.” Then to Nick, “You’re not having me on?”
“No.” Nick was becoming uncomfortable with his brother’s teasing. “Is it so difficult to believe I might wish to marry?”
“Frankly, yes. But then some people say fairies still roam the earth—is she one of them?”
Nick considered his brother’s question. McGinnes would say so. He had called her a leanan sídhe, or something like that. Then the words the cook had spoken that fateful morning they’d had the service for young Billy came back to him. If a man can refuse her, she will be his slave, but if he loves her instead, he will forever be hers. “Probably,” he said in answer to Martin’s question, and then added, “one never knows.”
“She’d have to be one of the magical ones to have you in tow. Who is she?”
“An American. Miss Tara McConnell—and my passenger. It seems her aunt, a Lady Danvers, knows the mater.”
“Oh, I know of Lady Danvers,” said Martin’s wife. “My mother often spoke of the dowager baroness. She is well thought of for her charity work.” Nick’s spirits sank. He’d have more than Tara’s father to win to his cause. He’d have to convince Tara’s Aunt Cornelia he was worthy as well.
“The world grows ever smaller,” he said resignedly. “In Bermuda, we spent an evening with friends of mine and fellow merchants, the Albouys, whose guests included relatives of that author mater likes so well.”
“Jane Austen,” said Martin. “You stopped in Bermuda?”
“Had to for the mast. You’ll have to come to the Raven and see my new cedar foremast. It’s better than the original made in England.”
Nick saw his brother reach for his wife’s hand and heard Martin say, “Kitten, are we boring you with all this talk of ships?”
Nick couldn’t resist asking, “Is the new ship named after you, Kit?”
His sister-in-law blushed and looked at her husband. Martin answered for her. “Yes, the Sea Kitten is named for Kit.” Then giving his wife a look of tenderness, he said, “I promised her a trip to some tropical isles before we settled down in London. But it seems our new status will have us in port for a time.”
Nick shifted his gaze to Martin’s wife, and she explained, “I’m expecting a child.”
Elated for them and for his family, he exclaimed, “Congratulations!” Rising to slap his brother on the back, he added, “The first grandchild. Won’t Mater and Pater be pleased?”
“I’m thinking they will,” said Martin. “But the nausea that comes with the early days has made it difficult for Kit to take the swells on the seas just now.”
Kit held up her cup and smiled, “Ginger tea.”
“We’ll be staying close to St. Thomas till this phase passes,” said Martin. “Do you sail north from here?”
“Yes,” Nick said, taking a swallow of his coffee. “As soon as the Raven is repaired I’m away to Baltimore. But first I want you to meet Tara. Though I have asked her to marry me, she’s not yet decided to have me. In fact, she seems quite resistant to the notion.”
“I can’t wait to meet this woman,” his brother said. “Quite a change for the man about London who, in his twenties, had women lining up to dance with him.”
“You have my permission to ignore my brother,” Nick leaned toward Kit, “he exaggerates.”
* * *
Tara and Peter arrived at the ship to a hive of activity. The air was filled with the sounds of hammers, saws and men shouting their needs to the workers they’d hired in Charlotte Amalie. She scanned the deck looking for the captain but did not see him. Nate yelled from starboard, “If’n yer lookin’ for the cap’n, Miss Tara, he’s in his cabin, just came back aboard with some visitors.”
Tara wondered if she should interrupt him in the midst of a meeting but in the end decided to go below. After all, the gray cat wasn’t the only one on board who was curious. On her way, Peter trailing behind her, she greeted the men and inquired about the status of their injuries.
Feeling a bit awkward after their night together, when she reached the captain’s cabin, Tara squared her shoulders, raised her chin and knocked. At the captain’s familiar “enter,” Tara opened the cabin door and stepped inside, leaving the portal open for Peter. Suddenly she was faced with two men who looked very much alike, standing on either side of a beautiful redhead. She blinked. Both men had sun-bronzed skin and smiles that revealed white teeth, but the shorter one had deep blue eyes.
“You must be Tara McConnell,” said the man with the blue eyes.
“Tara,” explained Nicholas, “this is my brother, Sir Martin Powell. And the lovely woman beside him is his wife, Lady Katherine Powell.”
“Please call me Kit,” the redhead said. “Martin and I don’t stand on formality with friends.”
“I would be honored if you would call me Tara,” she said, remembering her manners.
Nick came to her side and placed a possessive arm around her waist, making Tara a bit uncomfortable. What must his brother and sister-in-law think?
“Nick tells me you’ve been his passenger,” said Sir Martin, his eyes examining her closely, “and from what he’s told us about the trip thus far, you must be a stalwart soul.”
“Come,” said Nick, playing the host. “Let’s sit and have a cup of coffee.” Then he turned to Peter, who’d been waiting patiently behind Tara. “See if you can get some ginger tea from Nate for Lady Powell. He usually keeps it around for seasickness.” The cabin boy hurried out the cabin door to do his bidding.
Tara enjoyed Nick’s brother and sister-in-law and soon the four of them were laughing at the antics of the gray cat with the very large white paws that had curled up in Tara’s lap and gone to sleep.
“The cat used to sleep on my desk of a morning,” said Nick, “but as you can see, she has left me for a softer setting.”
With their light banter, Tara soon found she was enjoying exchanging quips with Nick’s family. After a year in London and months at sea with an English crew, Tara no longer felt uncomfortable being surrounded by her one-time enemies. These were friends. Perhaps it was a reflection of her newfound maturity that she thought even her family would forgive the past for the kindness these people had shown her. It had been the same on Bermuda. They saw her not as an American, but as herself.
Sitting next to the captain, knowing in a matter of weeks they would part, Tara felt a sudden melancholy. But she would not change her mind. Nick’s sister-in-law might be one to enjoy afternoons in an English parlour, but not Tara.
“Would you allow me to sketch you?” the beautiful redhead asked.
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br /> “She’s very good,” Sir Martin said to his brother and Tara.
“I would like a portrait of Tara,” said Nick. “A sketch for my cabin would be very nice.”
Sir Martin raised a brow to his wife, and Kit said, “If you’re willing, Tara, before you sail, I’ll do a sketch of you. Perhaps we can begin this afternoon. It doesn’t take me long once I start.”
“That’s very kind of you, Kit.” And so began Tara’s friendship with the captain’s sister-in-law. When the two brothers went back to their work, Nicolas sent Peter to retrieve Kit’s sketchbook and pencils from his brother’s ship, and the two women spent the afternoon together. While they nibbled on fruit and cheese, Tara heard all about Kit’s adventures in the Midlands of England.
* * *
They dined at Lavalette’s Hotel that evening, Nick inviting his brother and sister-in-law to be his guests along with Tara, his first mate and old Nate, who had cleaned up for the evening, appearing the distinguished gentleman with his gray hair neatly combed and wearing a black coat and pantaloons. Nick recalled it was the way Nate always dressed in London whenever Claire Powell was in attendance. Perhaps the old salt harbored a secret affection for Nick’s mother. Though ten years Nate’s senior, his mother was still a beautiful woman and Nate had never married.
Both Russ and Nate knew Martin quite well. Indeed, they knew the whole Powell family, so it was a time of getting reacquainted and telling stories about Nick and his brothers neither Nick nor Martin really wanted to have told. But Kit and Tara seemed delighted at the brothers’ childhood antics, so Nick accepted it as having a good affect upon the target of his affections.
Despite their night together, Tara still held herself at a distance, and when he escorted her to her room that night, she thanked him for a wonderful evening and went into her room without so much as a kiss. He thought he knew what it was. Tara felt guilty at succumbing to their shared passion and was trying to pretend it never happened.
Well, he would see about that.
* * *
Tara stepped into her room, a single candle casting a soft glow on the four-poster bed. She was glad it was not in this bed she’d so wantonly given herself to Nicholas Powell the night before. Taking the pins from her hair, she remembered how he had run his hands through her hair, scattering the pins. It sent shivers through her as her body relived what had followed.
It had become clear to her during dinner that she would have to steel herself to get through the next weeks as they sailed to Baltimore. The captain had been so solicitous of her and his glances so full of desire she knew it would be up to her to maintain a distance between them. He had not repeated his halfhearted demand that she marry him. Tara assumed the obligatory gentleman’s offer, once refused, would not be made again. It was just as well. She did not want to have to summon the strength to reject it. But then, she did not want to be an English broodmare sequestered away from the sea and the ships she loved, which was certain to happen if she married the English captain. How could she reconcile her newfound womanhood and her love of the sea? And what about her family and America? Could she leave the country she loved? As long as she kept her distance from the too-handsome captain, she wouldn’t have to answer those questions.
Then Tara recalled what the captain had said when he brought her to her door. If the repairs were complete and the ship provisioned as ordered, they would sail for Baltimore the next day.
She couldn’t help wonder what awaited her there.
Chapter 20
The trip north, as far as Nick was concerned, was uneventful. They’d had a bit of bad weather at one point off the Carolinas, but nothing so severe as to damage the ship. And, thank God, there had been no further encounters with pirates.
He and Russ had held their collective breath as they sailed the waters off the coast of Florida, but the Laffite brothers made no appearance. As for Cofresí, Nick hoped the pirate was still in custody answering the questions of the Spanish authorities. Perhaps by now he was even in jail. The thought brought a smile to Nick’s face. The pirate had thought to take Tara; Nick would have fought and died before he’d have let the pirate have her.
His bride to be, as he optimistically thought of the American girl, kept her distance as they traveled north up the Atlantic coast. And believing it was what she wished, Nick did his best to keep his hands off her. But it was not easy.
“The tension between the two of ye is like a taut anchor chain in a bad sea,” said Nate one day as he stood watching Nick watch Tara as she went about helping his crew with their chores. “The whole lot of ’em,” he gestured to the crew, “are watching to see when the tinder will ignite.”
“There is little I can do, Nate. The lady has rejected my suit.”
“Yer going about it all wrong, lad. A little humility would be better than ordering the lass about.”
Nick thought he had been quite humble when he’d made his proposal. Well, it was humble for him. In any case, he was not giving up. If Tara would not come about on her own, perhaps her father could persuade her. But what was he thinking? Her father would hate the idea of her marrying an Englishman, particularly one who’d been a privateer, no matter he’d taken his prizes primarily among the French.
Nick planned to dock his ship where he expected to see his new schooner and then see Tara home. He would speak to her father about courting her, assuming the elder McConnell had recovered whatever ailed him. Perhaps on American soil she would see things as he did. And Martin had given him an idea for a gift for her that would, he was certain, speak to her sailor’s heart. It wasn’t much of a plan but it was all he could think to do—except to pray.
Yes, he would pray.
* * *
Tara leaned against the rail on the port side of the bow as they entered Baltimore’s harbor basin, her heart soaring at the familiar sight of ships sailing through the channel, their white sails set against the green of the surrounding hills. Sighting the white buildings with red roofs emerging from the greenery, she smiled. She was nearly home.
The Wind Raven sailed past Fort McHenry, making Tara ever more eager to see her father. Would he be ill? Would he even be alive? She couldn’t bear to think otherwise. Anxiety had her biting her lower lip while the ship drew closer to the inner harbor.
She had managed to avoid Nicholas Powell as they sailed north, though each time he was near, her knees grew weak and her resolve threatened to flee. This love, she had come to see, was a physical thing. It nettled her brain and robbed her of appetite. And the ache from the knowledge she must soon part from him, though she believed it to be the right path, would not go away. She hoped in time her love for the brooding English sea captain would fade. Did not time heal all wounds?
Nate strolled to where she was standing and began to talk about the last time he and the captain were in Baltimore. She was only half listening when the first mate approached.
“Are you looking forward to being home, Miss McConnell?” he asked, smiling. He had always been terribly polite to her, and she had come to admire his loyalty to the captain.
Returning his smile, she said, “Yes, Mr. Ainsworth, I am.”
“Worried about your father?”
“That, too. It’s been nearly two months since I left London.”
“Well, you shall know soon enough. I hope all is well.”
At the top of the fort a huge American flag rippled in the morning wind, reminding her of three years before, when her countrymen had successfully warded off the British attack. This was her country and she was proud of it.
Soon they would reach the shipbuilding center of Fell’s Point. Wondering how far they would be from her home, Tara turned to the first mate. “Where are we making anchor, sir?”
He gave her a winsome smile and then looked into the distance. “The captain wants to dock where he’ll be picking up his new schooner, at Stag Shipping. He will see you home immediately after.”
“Stag Shipping?” She could hardly believe it.
Her family’s business was his destination?
“Do you know it, Miss McConnell?”
“Oh, yes. I do,” she said proudly. “They built some of the Baltimore clipper ships, you know.”
“That is why the captain is here. He has long wanted one of his own and is most anxious to claim it. Ordered the schooner from the London agent nearly nine months ago.”
A smile spread across Tara’s face. It seemed the captain was sailing her to her very door.
* * *
Nick had just stepped onto the quarterdeck as their destination came into sight. Those crewmembers not aloft furling sail were coiling and stowing lines on deck or standing along the rail by the mooring lines, ready for docking. He joined Russ and Tara at the rail, where they were talking with Nate.
The faint scent of jasmine filled his mind, making him long to hold the woman he wanted. She had confined her golden curls into a proper knot at her nape and was dressed in modest ladies’ apparel. He would have her in a gown, in breeches or in nothing at all. But he was determined to have her.
In the distance, Nick saw a row of schooners lined up at the dock. One was under construction and three two-masted schooners looked to have been in service for some time, but the last one, a three-masted schooner, was new. Nick stared at the black-hulled ship. The polished wood of its three raked masts was gleaming in the sun. It was just like his vision the day he’d left London, finally real before his eyes. Though the sails were yet to be unfurled, in his mind’s eye, he could see them full of the wind, sailing close hauled. Excitement filled him. It was his ship. It had to be.
“A grand day for our arrival, Captain,” Russ said.
“A grand day to claim my new ship. Look,” he said, never taking his eyes from the sleek vessel, “there she is.”
“Aye, and she comes with a reckonin’, I ’spect,” murmured Nate as he left them to head toward the helm, where he would take the ship the last distance to the dock. Nick gave him a side-glance, wondering what the old seaman meant by his cryptic remark. But nothing could sour his mood as he gazed longingly at his new schooner. He had loved the Wind Raven with an avid devotion, but this new one was special. He intended it to be the only ship he would sail for a very long time.
