by Regan Walker
Russ gave the order to furl sails and Nate guided the ship to its berth at the dock. Nick’s gaze shifted to the emerald-green stag painted on the front of the company’s main building, the same stag that had been on the confirmation the London agent had sent him of his order for the new schooner. His men scrambled to secure the ship.
Suddenly a door in the Stag Shipping building burst open and three men dashed out to stand abreast at the dock. A greeting party?
“I wonder who they are,” Nick thought aloud.
“My brothers,” Tara announced with a smile. “It seems we’re expected.”
“Your brothers?” asked Nick, perplexed. “Your family owns Stag Shipping?”
“Why yes,” said Tara, “didn’t you know?”
The three tawny-haired men stood together, the tallest with his legs spread and his hands fisted on his hips. To a man, they looked angry and intransigent. No, Nick corrected himself, they looked livid. He couldn’t be more delighted. If he could survive this meeting with her brothers, Tara would be forced to take him.
“What could this be?” wondered Russ aloud.
“Judging by their faces,” Nick replied, “I’d say it’s an answer to a prayer.”
As soon as the gangway was down, Nick stepped off the ship and offered his hand to the tallest of the three men. “Captain George McConnell, I presume?”
The oldest McConnell brother scowled and ignored Nick’s extended hand. “You are the captain of the Wind Raven. Don’t you remember me, for I surely remember you from Esmit’s Tavern in St. Thomas. I have an excellent memory—even when I’ve been drinking.”
“Ah,” said Nick, withdrawing his hand. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly came together. No wonder Tara had looked so familiar when he’d first met her. The drunken American captain he’d encountered in St. Thomas had a better memory than he did. Well, even this could serve his purpose.
“Where is my sister?” George McConnell demanded, obviously the spokesman for the other two brothers flanking him.
Nick turned toward the Wind Raven. Tara was just starting down the gangway, a brilliant smile on her face. “George! John! Tom!” she shouted, waving her arm and running the last few steps. She wore no bonnet and wisps of tawny hair blew across her face. To Nick, she had never looked more beautiful. Her brothers reached for her with open arms, each kissing her on the cheek. Nick felt a twinge of jealousy, then reminded himself they were her brothers.
George McConnell gave her a fierce hug and asked, “You are safe? You are well?”
“Yes,” she said, breathless, “though the voyage wasn’t without its challenges. We were held up with pirates for a time.”
Her brothers scowled at Nick.
Russ had followed Tara off the ship and now joined Nick, directing his attention back to the Wind Raven. From the rail and the shrouds where they stared at the unfolding drama, the crew watched like anxious parents.
“How did you know I’d be arriving today and on this ship?” Tara inquired of her brothers.
“When you left London without your chaperone, Aunt Cornelia sent a message to Father on the next cargo ship sailing for Baltimore,” answered the one she’d called Tom. “It arrived before you did.”
“How is Father?” Tara asked anxiously.
“Better,” said George. “And he wants to see you immediately.”
“Oh,” she said clutching her throat. “I am so relieved. All right, yes, I want to see him too.”
Tara began walking away with her brother John on the path that led up a hill to a large two-story white house overlooking the harbor. After a few steps, she paused and looked back. Wanting to reassure her, Nick said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tara.” Then he turned to her oldest brother. “I’ll give you some time to get reacquainted. We can deal with other matters then.” As he turned to walk back to his ship, Nick’s shoulder was seized in a hard grip that yanked him around.
“You’ll not be leaving just yet, Powell,” said George McConnell. “I’ve a few questions that will not keep.” Russ stood back and crossed his arms over his chest, saying nothing. Nick looked to his ship, where his crew stood at the rail wearing knowing smiles. They had abandoned their captain to Tara’s brothers. A reckoning indeed. Before he could open his mouth to explain, the oldest brother dragged him forward, shouting to his brother Tom to see that Tara’s trunk was brought off the ship.
It was time to pay the piper and Nick was only too happy to oblige.
* * *
George shoved Nick into the office and from there into a back room with a desk and two chairs. Nick put up no fight, hoping this might help his cause. Once they were in private, Tara’s oldest brother leaned on the desk and turned on Nick with crossed arms. “I have one question for you, Powell. Did you take our sister to your bed?”
“Yes.”
The fist slammed into Nick’s face, hitting him hard enough to knock him to the floor.
“Damnation! You just had to do it, didn’t you? Well, you may be a sorry excuse for a husband but you’ll be doing the right thing by our sister—and then we’ll kill you.”
Nick rose from the floor, rubbing his aching jaw. “I love her, McConnell. I have offered her marriage.”
“Damn and you’re English to boot.” George McConnell huffed and crossed his arms. “And what did Tara say?”
“She refused my offer.”
“She’ll have no choice. Father will insist, and she will not defy him.”
“Good. That was my hope.”
George looked at him, puzzled. “You are serious?”
“Yes, I am. I want her for my wife and I’ll have no other.”
“Father will not be pleased. You’re English,” he said again, as if that explained it all. Nick supposed it did. “Tara is his pride and joy. He would see her married only to an American. But no matter. The marriage doesn’t have to be permanent. I expect she’ll make a beautiful widow.”
Chapter 21
Tara walked slowly to the upholstered chair where her father appeared to sleep. He looked peaceful, though deep shadows beneath his eyes told her much.
“Father?” she whispered, not wanting to wake him if he was truly resting. John, who had accompanied her, stood just behind her.
Sean McConnell opened his eyes and his face crinkled into a hundred wrinkles as the Irishman she loved smiled. “Tara, sure an’ you’ve come home to me.” His large hands swallowed hers as he reached for her.
“Father!” she cried, kneeling at his feet. “You know I would never have left if you hadn’t insisted.”
He ran his eyes over her gown and her hair, his gaze lingering on her face. “I see you’ve become the lady I always envisioned. You’ve a different look about you, Tara me love, more your mother than ever.”
She smiled, happy to hear his words. “Are you well, Father?”
“They tell me I am recovering. I feel like I’ve spent a month at hard labor and find myself napping in the afternoons, but I suppose I’m on the mend.”
“What was it?”
From behind her, John said, “Ship’s fever.”
“Oh, Father!” she cried, aware many seamen had died of typhus.
“Fortunately I didn’t take sick until I’d returned from that last voyage. The boys have taken good care of me.”
“Well I’m here now and can take care of you too. You’ll be fine, I promise.”
“That’s my girl.” He patted her hand.
Rising, she kissed his cheek and said, “I’ll let you rest now, but I’ll be back.”
* * *
She stepped out of her father’s study to hear John say in a grim voice, “Tom tells me George wants to see you, Tara.”
She nodded. “Where is Captain Powell?”
“He was headed into the office with George. He may be back on his ship by now.”
“All right. I’ll see George.” She expected questions, knowing she had defied her aunt and traveled alone. Bracing herself for a difficult conversatio
n, she entered the main building of Stag Shipping.
George sat behind his desk in the inner office. He was alone. Rising, he said a word to John she didn’t hear. When John left, George returned to his seat.
“Sit down, Tara. I will be brief. I know you are probably tired and anxious to see to your things. I’ve asked Tom to bring your trunk and valise to your room.”
She sat in one of the chairs facing his desk, where she had sat countless other times as they’d planned routes and, during the war, talked about the skirmishes at sea. Her oldest brother’s face told her he was both serious and disapproving, and for a moment she wondered if he hadn’t taken the place of her father in family matters. Perhaps he had.
“Is anything wrong, George?”
“Yes, but the matter will be shortly seen to. And though I have no liking for what must be done, there is no alternative.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know I’ve no fondness for the English, Tara, but it seems I’m to have one as a brother-in-law.”
“What?”
“Tara, had I known Aunt Cornelia arranged for you to sail with Nicholas Powell, captain of the Wind Raven, I’d have never allowed it. First, he is English. We’ve fought a war with them, remember? I shouldn’t have to remind you that our brother died in that war. And if I shared with Father all I know of this particular English captain, he would have forbidden you passage on the man’s ship. I learned of Powell’s attitude toward women from an encounter with him in St. Thomas on that trip you made with me a few years back. I was not surprised to learn he seduced you.”
Tara gasped. “He told you that?”
“He didn’t volunteer it, no. But knowing him, I asked. At least he was honest. He says he’s offered you marriage and that you have refused him. Does he speak the truth?”
“His reasons for marriage were quite unacceptable.” Tara rose and walked to the window, her back to her brother. She felt a trap closing around her. Would her brothers really force her to wed Nicholas Powell? The marriage would keep her a prisoner in some grand home in London, and without the love she so wanted. Bile rose in her throat. Though she loved Nicholas Powell, she could not bear such an existence. She wanted a different life.
“Then it seems he’s been remiss,” George said. “But whether that is the case or not, you will marry him.”
She swirled around to face her brother. “I’ll not marry a man who doesn’t love me!” she yelled across the desk. “And I’ll not spend my future days in a drawing room in London! Besides,” she continued, feeling the wind leave her sails, “I’d miss all of you.”
“Love or no, parlour or no, brothers or no, you will marry him. And if you don’t agree, I’ll be telling the whole story to Father. And you know he will insist. And then, after the wedding, he will kill the good captain, so you need not worry about London.”
George shouted toward the open door, “Bring in Captain Powell!”
* * *
Nick had just entered the outer office when he’d heard Tara shout her insistence that she would not marry a man who did not love her, nor would she be confined to a London parlour. He had to admit his answer to her question when she’d asked if he loved her hadn’t been very clear. But she should have realized he loved her, damn it all. If that and her fear of being consigned to the parlours of London were what stood in the way of his suit, he would soon remedy the deficiency.
Tara’s brother John, who’d come to fetch him, had also heard Tara’s vehement statements, but he just shook his head and escorted Nick into the inner office. Apparently John was the quiet one.
As they entered the office, which smelled of lumber and efficiency, George rose and walked toward him. “You’d better convince her, Powell, and once you do, you will have to convince our father.” The tall American left with John, shutting the door behind them. He and Tara were alone for the first time since their night of passion in St. Thomas. He could see she was nervous, twisting her hands at her waist, hesitant to speak.
“Tara, it seems I’ve done this all wrong.” She looked up, a startled expression on her beautiful face. “Oh, I don’t mean making love to you. I’d not change that. But I failed to respond as I should have when you asked if I loved you. Lord knows I’ve thought it many a time, but I’m not a man of sweet words, you know.”
Her blue-green eyes fixed on him, a look of wonder on her face as she waited to hear what he would say.
“I love you, Tara. I have for a long time. Perhaps it began that day you climbed the rigging to rescue Billy in those ridiculous breeches of yours. Or it might have been when you talked of your pride in being an American. There were so many times I saw you acting the woman I’d never thought to find. I don’t know what finally did it. I do know that I can’t—I won’t—live without you. You’ve become a part of me, the best part, I think, and I have no intention of letting you leave me now.”
For a moment she just stood there staring open-mouthed. “You mean it? Really? George did not threaten you?”
The look in her aquamarine eyes was so intense he could feel her anxious longing. “Yes, he threatened me,” his mouth hitched up in a reluctant grin, “that is, he said he plans to make you a widow after we wed. But I am not a man to bend to a threat. I do mean it, Tara. I love you as I have never loved any woman.” Closing the distance between them, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and smiled down at her. “Marry me or you’ll leave me a lost soul.”
“And what about our life together if I accept? Will you leave me in London while you sail the world? Expect me to sit in a drawing room all day, embroidering with the ladies of the ton?”
He dropped his hands and burst out laughing. “You? Embroider? No, I don’t think so. And I’ve never sought the company of the ton. I want a partner in all things, Tara. A woman who will share my love of the sea, who will sail with me.” And then thinking of the children they would one day have, he added, “When you must stay home, I promise, so will I.” Perhaps, like her brother George, he would one day become involved in the business end of his family’s endeavors.
Her eyes lit up and her beautiful lips formed into a smile as she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Nick, yes. I’ll marry you. Today if you like.”
Nick kissed the woman he’d claimed as his own and then stood back. “Yes, I’d like that very much, but aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“Apparently, I must first persuade your father.”
“Oh,” she said thoughtfully, “that will not be an easy task, I’m afraid.”
Together, hand-in-hand, they left the small office to find Tara’s brothers waiting for them outside. Nick gazed in the direction of his ship. Several of his crew still stood at the rail, Russ now among them. When they saw him holding Tara’s hand, they broke out into smiles and cheers, slapping each other on the back.
“All right, Powell,” Tara’s brother George said, “I can see you’ve managed to persuade my sister. Now you must face the real opposition: our father.”
Nick and Tara, accompanied by her brothers, walked up the hill to the big white house with the black shutters set amongst the pine trees overlooking the harbor. At the front door, Nick paused and faced Tara. “Are you certain you want to be a part of this? It may not be pleasant.”
She returned his gaze with a confident air. “Partners, remember? Of course I want to be with you. I may be able to help.”
It was so like Tara to want to be in the midst of the fray and to be offering her help, he did not object, just shrugged his shoulders and walked with her through the door George held open for them. A plump, red-haired woman approached, wearing an apron over her dark blue gown.
“Land sakes, child!” she said to Tara. “You’re not even home an hour and already there’s trouble. I can feel it.” Then facing Nick, she asked, “And who is this?”
“Nicholas,” said Tara, “this is Mrs. O’Flaherty, our housekeeper and one of the family.” Then addre
ssing the woman, “Maggie, this is Captain Nicholas Powell.”
“Her betrothed,” Nick added, holding up Tara’s hand to show the housekeeper his ring. Tara had never taken it off.
“I see.” Then looking at Tara, she said, “I don’t suppose yer father knows about this, does he? What could you be thinkin’, Miss Tara? The man’s English!”
“No, Maggie, Father doesn’t yet know. That is why we are here, to ask for his blessing. Can you let Father know my brothers and I want to see him and we have a…visitor with us?”
“Humph,” mumbled the housekeeper under her breath as she walked away. “He won’t like this none, no sir.”
In a moment the housekeeper returned. “He’s awake and will see you and your…visitor,” she said, casting a scowl at Nick.
Nick thought the room they stepped into must be the elder McConnell’s study, as books lined the walls and in the center there was a large desk. Two high-backed, well-stuffed chairs were set at an angle to the brick fireplace. In one corner sat a tall mahogany secretary and beneath the window next to it, framed by dark blue curtains drawn back with a sash on each side, was a round pedestal table on which sat a vase of red roses. Souvenirs of a life at sea were scattered about the room, among them nautical charts, a sextant and, over the fireplace, a painting of a schooner cutting through wild seas.
The older man, slumped in one of the chairs with his hands folded on his chest, looked to be an old salt whose leathered face bore the lines of many voyages, though he was paler than Nick would have expected for a ship’s captain. His tawny hair was liberally threaded with gray, as was his short, well-trimmed beard. The hair color and his blue eyes, when he opened them, told Nick the man was Tara’s father, Sean McConnell.
* * *
As she entered the study with Nick and her brothers, Tara carefully watched her father. He looked tired and her heart reached out to him. “Father, are you well enough to see us?”
