Wind and the Sea

by Marsha Canham

  “It was your idea to try to rehabilitate the urchin—or do you only participate in good deeds from a distance?”

  Matt scowled at Courtney as he held out a needle to her. “Here. And by God if your hand slips—”

  Courtney looked at the outstretched palm, at the embedded sliver, then at the needle.

  “I do not think I should do it.”

  “Do it,” Ballantine ordered quietly.

  She took the needle and glared at Ballantine.

  “Whereas I do not believe I want to watch this,” Matthew muttered, and turned his head. His whole arm tensed when he felt Courtney’s cool fingers close around his wrist. He held his breath and waited for the plunge and slash of an avenging needle.

  Courtney smiled faintly for the first time, knowing she had a perfect opportunity to cause the Yankee doctor a few minutes of discomfort. She was still staring at him, her eyes huge and luminous, when he swore and turned to her.

  “Well? What is wrong? I—” Matt glanced down and saw the needle with the offending splinter of wood impaled on its tip. He looked down at his hand, at the droplet of blood beading over the hole in his palm. “I’ll be damned. I did not feel a thing.”

  “I told you he had a steady hand,” Adrian drawled. “Care for a shave?”

  “No! I mean...er, no thanks, but I—” Matt stopped, his attention drawn swiftly to Courtney’s face. She had dropped her guard for a split second and smiled openly at the doctor’s hasty reply. The effect was astounding. The smile revealed soft generous lips and drew Matt’s attention to a slight, self-conscious blush on cheeks that never had and never would show a trace of masculine hair. The long slender throat was far too delicate to lead to brawny shoulders—an observation confirmed by the gap at the collar of her shirt.

  Rutger’s jaw slackened as the bits of the puzzle came together like metal scrapings to a magnet.

  “Good Lord!” His eyes sought Adrian’s for confirmation. “He is a girl!”

  The lieutenant sighed expansively and pushed away from the wall. “I did not think she would make it past you a second time.”

  “Make it past...what are you saying? You mean you have known all along that he...is a she?”

  “My introduction to Miss Farrow came as unexpectedly as yours,” Adrian assured him dryly. “About an hour ago and twice as abruptly.”

  The doctor stared at Courtney, who had backed away again, her face taut, her eyes moving warily from one man to the other.

  It took several seconds of strained silence for the name to register on Matthew’s brain.

  “Farrow?” He gasped. “Did you say Farrow?”

  “I did.”

  “As in Duncan Farrow and Everart Farrow?”

  “Father and uncle, respectively.”

  That was too much for Matthew, and he sat down heavily on a nearby chair. He took in Courtney’s appearance—the loose-fitting shirt and dark breeches, the stringy mop of hair. His gaze moved down her arm to the wound that stood out pink and swollen beneath the rolled sleeve, and he thought of the treatment she had endured from his over-tired hands that first day.

  “Dear God,” he murmured, as he turned to Adrian in disbelief. “What do you intend to do with her now? Adrian...you cannot mean to hand her over to Jennings. Why he would...he would...”

  “I know damned well what he would do with her,” Ballantine interrupted grimly. “That is why I have brought her here to you.”

  “Me?”

  “I am loathe to keep repeating myself, but this was your idea.”

  “My idea?” Matthew frowned, then looked at Courtney’s clothing and was jarred by another thought. “You cannot seriously be thinking of keeping her disguised as a boy?”

  Ballantine spread his hands wide. “Have you a better idea?”

  “Not offhand, but—”

  “We do not have a wealth of time for debate,” Adrian countered evenly. “But since it is not uncommon to take the younger prisoners and put them to work, there is a chance—a slim one, I agree—but a chance the charade could work. She would have to stay out of the way of the rest of the crew, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” said Matthew, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to manage on a ship one hundred and fifty feet long and twenty-five feet wide. “And I suppose you are about to tell me now that you have also decided this—" he indicated the infirmary—“is the safest place to keep her?”

  “I considered it, believe me,” the lieutenant admitted with a grin. “But unfortunately there is far too much coming and going at all hours. Someone would be bound to notice something different about her. No—” He paused, and the next thought was obviously a distasteful one. “I am afraid she is going to have to remain with me—work for me as my personal steward. That way she will need only report to me, and there should be few, if any, questions asked.”

  “Well, I have about a hundred!” Courtney cried angrily, her cheeks flushed with indignation as she listened to the two men discussing her like they would a piece of furniture. “You could ask me what I want to do!”

  Both men turned to her, but it was Ballantine’s voice that cut through the air like an icy blade.

  “What you want to do has absolutely no bearing on what you will do. I thought I made myself clear on that point.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “And if I refuse? If I scream from the top of my lungs who I am and who it is trying to keep me apart from the rest of the prisoners? The cage you so generously made my home for the past week may have been dark and airless, but it was not without sound. I heard the guards talking. I heard how the captain would dearly love to have a reason to break you, Lieutenant Yankee. Protecting the daughter of Duncan Farrow might provide him with the excuse he needs!”

  Ballantine’s eyes darkened ominously. “Are you attempting to blackmail me? To blackmail a man who would sooner toss you over the side than waste energy flogging you?”

  “I doubt very much whether you would do either, Yankee.”

  “Really?” Adrian arched a brow in amazement. “And why would I not?”

  Courtney caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Rutger shake his head in warning. And a closer look at the lieutenant revealed a man taut with fury. Violence was in his clenched jaw, his stance, in the tiny vein pulsing at his temple. A chill swept through her but she did not turn away. Let the enemy see your fear and you are lost. Duncan Farrow’s words. Sound advice. But what if you were facing a man like Adrian Ballantine, and if you knew, suddenly, his were no idle threats?

  Matthew cleared his throat cautiously. “Shouting your identity, Miss Farrow, might cause the lieutenant—and myself—some discomfort, that much is true, but I rather doubt we would regret it as much as you would. As you must already be aware, the crew has taken out their frustrations on some of the women we brought on board from Snake Island. If they were to discover that they had the daughter of the man who was more or less responsible for the recent loss of their crew-mates...well...they would all insist on their turn, if you understand my meaning. I doubt you would last more than a couple of hours.”

  Courtney’s cheeks stained a dull red. “Will I fare any better with the likes of you?”

  Matthew smiled hesitantly. “If that is what is worrying you—”

  “Speaking for myself,” Ballantine broke in savagely, “I can only repeat what I said in my cabin, but in plainer language. I am not desperate enough to want to fight my way past the foul language and even fouler disposition, in search of what could only be a moment’s relief. I prefer my whores to offer tenderness, not the smell of a slops jar. The only thing you will have to fear from me is the touch of a disciplinary lash against your backside—something, to my mind, that should have been done a good many years ago.

  “As for threatening me, miss, I would not attempt it again or not only will you be thrown to the crew with my blessings and encouragement, but I will make damned sure you never get within smelling distance of your father’s men again.
Do we understand each other?”

  Courtney looked past Ballantine while she swallowed her anger in silence. With visible effort, Ballantine regained control and addressed Rutger again.

  “I have been without a boy for three months now and, as my personal steward, she will be left on her own with few questions asked. She can take her meals alone and sleep in the small anteroom next to mine. She will have to work for her keep—work hard, by God—but if she is careful and if she wants to live to see Gibraltar—” he shot her a glance—“she just might pull it off.”

  “She did raise an interesting question: What about Jennings? He will be bound to notice her.”

  “Jennings?” Ballantine snorted. “He has hardly been out of his cabin all week. But even if he does see her, he will be looking at a scrubbed mouse of a lad who is striving to earn his parole outside of the prison hold. With luck they will not get closer to one another than the width of the ship.”

  “But if they do?” Matt persisted, his concerns suddenly grave. “If they do, Adrian, and if Jennings finds out—”

  “Then neither one of us will make the history books—not that that should come as any surprise.”

  “And Falworth? He sniffs around you like a bloodhound. What he wouldn’t give to hand your head to Jennings on a platter!”

  “Let me worry about Falworth,” said Adrian firmly. “He has his nose in so many dung heaps it will not be difficult to send him off on a false scent.”

  “But—” Rutger saw the cold, hard light enter Adrian’s eyes and he ended his resistance on a sigh. “All right. Fine. What do you want me to do?”

  “For a start, you can keep her here during my duty hours. I not want her roaming around the ship unattended. She is far too imaginative for that. Let her scrub floors or tables. Put her to work and keep her occupied and out of sight.”

  Matt nodded, “That should be easy enough. I am always short-handed down here. She can work with Dickie. Anything else?”

  Ballantine headed toward the door. “Since I am due on deck soon, you could see that she has something to eat. And you might introduce her to a bath. As it is it will take a week to air the stench out of my cabin.”

  He paused in the doorway and grinned wryly as he removed the knife from his waistband. With an expert flip of his wrist, he sent it to a quivering halt, embedded an inch deep in the tabletop.

  “I would also take a careful tally of my instruments if I were you. She appears to have a fondness for squirreling away shiny objects.”

  ~~

  When the door closed, Courtney and Rutger simultaneously released a pent-up breath. Neither of them moved for several moments. Their eyes met and held; hers were filled with distrust, his with lingering reservations.

  Adrian Ballantine was taking a hell of a risk, whether he admitted it or not, Matt thought. And keeping the girl on as his cabin boy was lunacy. Jennings had spies all over the ship. If just one of them found out, if just one breath of suspicion was passed to the captain...

  “There are worse ways of spending the next few days,” he said finally. “I only hope you realize that, and how much trouble we could all find ourselves in if you are caught.”

  Courtney regarded him without comment, and his complexion deepened a shade.

  “You were incredibly lucky it was Adrian who found you out first. Any one of a dozen others would have presented you to Jennings like a ceremonial haggis—and handed him the dagger to split you open with.”

  Courtney massaged a bruised wrist. “Your lieutenant is not exactly a gentleman-prince. And I do not understand why I cannot simply be put in the hold with the others. I am one of them. I belong with them. I am not asking for any better treatment, or for any special privileges. And I am certainly not asking either of you to risk a precious hair on your heads for me. I just want to be put with my father’s men and left alone.”

  Matthew sighed. “Surely you can see why it just is not possible. You have been in the cage, you have seen the conditions in the hold.”

  “I have seen them, yes. I have also seen my father’s men and I cannot stay here in warmth and comfort while they suffer. If the rest of your crew was being beaten and starved to death in a stinking prison hold, could you think only of saving yourself?”

  There was no way to answer her. She was right, of course. How many times had he put himself into danger without thinking of the consequences, without considering anything but the welfare of his crewmates. He had the scars to prove it and so did Adrian.

  The emerald eyes were burning into him, and he had to look away.

  “Come along. As luck would have it, I had ordered a hot bath be put in my cabin, and I must agree with Lieutenant Ballantine: you need it far more than I.”

  The doctor’s cabin was located on the same deck, farther astern. They passed two sailors lounging at the foot of a ladderway but neither seemed to notice anything worthy of comment. They touched their forelocks respectfully and nodded a greeting to Dr. Rutger and stepped aside to clear a way through to the narrow companionway, then picked up their conversation without marking the interruption. There was noise and boisterous laughter filtering down from the gun deck overhead. Men recently relieved from their watches were greeting those who were already relaxing over a pipe and a mug of ale. The air was musty with the scent of sea water and tobacco smoke and with the earthy smell of unwashed bodies crowded together in cramped quarters.

  The doctor’s cabin was even smaller than the lieutenant’s. It housed a plain wooden cot and a single bookcase, the lower shelf of which opened down into a desk. All the free space was currently taken up by a brass half-tub filled with lukewarm water.

  The books on the shelves were medical journals with long, unpronounceable titles and dog-eared pages. There was a tin cup containing goose-feather quills on the desk, and a pot of ink sitting lidless on a badly stained blotter. Papers covered with a tightly slanted script were stacked an inch deep on the chair and the desk, and lying expectantly by the tallow candle was a long-stemmed clay pipe and a pair of square, wire-rimmed spectacles.

  “Not exactly palatial,” Matt said, noting her inspection of the cabin. “But it suits me. You will find soap and a towel on the sea chest, as well as a stout brush for scrubbing. I will come back in, say, an hour and bind up that arm for you again.”

  Courtney clenched her hands tightly in front of her, torn between the lure of the bathwater and her need to hide any and all weaknesses from the doctor, regardless of his soft eyes and even softer words. Her throat felt scalded by unshed tears, the knot in her stomach took an extra twist...a twist that was sensed halfway across the room.

  “Listen, you asked me a few minutes ago if I could think about saving myself while the rest of my crew was suffering...?” Matthew paused uncomfortably. “Well, no, I probably could not. But I might be able to look on it another way. Outside the bars, I might be able to find ways to help them. Extra food, extra water. I am not saying it could be done easily—or even that it could be done at all. In fact, I am probably committing a mild form of treason in even suggesting it.” He saw the tears vanish from her eyes as a sudden spark of attentiveness brightened them. “I have access to the holds several times a week. Normally I find myself short of volunteers willing to help out with the prisoners, but—”

  “You would do that?” Courtney whispered, not entirely believing her ears. “You would allow me to help them?”

  “I am a doctor, Miss Farrow,” he said quietly. “Not a soldier. I might be able to arrange to have my back turned on occasion, providing it was only food and water you were smuggling to them. I would need your word on that.”

  Courtney was started a second time. “You would accept the word of Duncan Farrow’s daughter? A pirate? A thief? A murderer?”

  Matthew grimaced. “I find it difficult to believe you are any of those things. And yes, I would accept the word of Duncan Farrow’s daughter—if I thought she would honor it.”

  The dreadful, smothering panic in Courtn
ey’s chest eased slightly, and she could almost breathe normally for the first time since being summoned to Ballantine’s cabin.

  “Then you have my word, doctor,” she said slowly. “I will not attempt to arm a full-scale insurrection.”

  Matthew nodded and turned to leave. As an afterthought, he added uncomfortably, “And providing there is never any mention of this conversation to anyone—not even Lieutenant Ballantine.”

  “Him?” She bristled. “I would not mention the time of day to that insufferable bastard.”

  Rutger winced at how easily the profanity slipped from her tongue. “Nonetheless, Adrian is a good man to have on your side. You should be thankful he did not call your bluff back there and toss you to the wolves.”

  “I am so grateful I can hardly wait to scrub his floor and empty his slop jar,” she said acidly. “What happened to his last cabin boy? Did he die of gratitude?”

  Matthew sighed. “Alan was killed in a freak accident on deck. A winch cable came loose, and he was struck in the back of the head.”

  Courtney fidgeted a moment with the frayed end of twine that served as her belt. “Well...if it happened three months ago, why has no one else rushed forward to take his place?”

  Matthew’s shoulders sagged, and his expression altered again. “Alan was the lieutenant’s brother. Adrian has not allowed anyone to take his place.”

  Chapter Four

  Miranda dragged her fingers along the oak rail, tracing the myriad dents and scratches that marred the polished surface. She inhaled deeply of the clean salt air and looked out longingly at the shiny swells of green water. Jennings permitted her two brief strolls on deck each day in the company of one of his junior officers. Most of them were young and plainly in awe of her raw beauty, and she took some amusement in guessing how long it would take for their appreciation of her to show in their breeches. Sometimes it only required a softly spoken compliment, a knowing glance, or a smile. Other times it called for a subtle play of gestures—a finger trailed suggestively along the arch of her throat, a smoothing of nonexistent wrinkles on her blouse or skirt. They all succumbed eventually.