Wind and the Sea

by Marsha Canham

  “I thank you again, Captain, for your kind invitation to join you this evening. And for the opportunity to bathe and change into more civilized clothes. Lice and sweat were never my adornments of choice.”

  Garrett Shaw grinned and pointed to the decanter of wine. “Help yourself, Lieutenant. Then join us in a hearty toast to our mutual interests: liberty and prosperity.”

  Falworth tipped the Madeira into a goblet and smiled at Miranda. “You are looking ravishing, as usual, Miss Gold.”

  Miranda glanced at Garrett. “What is he doing here? What on earth are you playing at, Garrett?"

  “I could hardly refuse his request,” Shaw said easily.

  “His request?”

  “And a small enough one at that, considering who he is and what he has done for us in the past.”

  “I do not understand,” Miranda snapped irritably.

  “I think I do,” Courtney said slowly. Inwardly she wondered if he was the American spy who had been selling them the sea codes, the shipping schedules, the blockade routes.

  Falworth's gaze shifted to Courtney and an eyebrow arched upward. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure,” he murmured, returning her stare.

  “Courtney Farrow,” Garrett said, clearly amused. “Duncan Farrow’s daughter.”

  Falworth glanced sharply at Miranda before reverting his gaze to Courtney. “Duncan’s daughter? Ah yes, I have heard a great deal about you." He stopped just as he was about to bow over her hand. Something in her eyes, the unusual color of green, halted him and he gaped. "Good God." He stood back and snapped his fingers. "You were the cabin boy Ballantine took under his wing?"

  “Difficult to believe anyone could mistake her for a lad, is it not?” Garrett said with a chuckle and sipped his wine.

  Falworth’s gaze inched boldly over Courtney's bare neck and shoulders, the shape of her breasts, the pout of her mouth. “Difficult, indeed. But then the stalwart First Lieutenant Adrian Ballantine, may he enjoy his stay in hell, was known for paying more attention to spars and sails than he did a pretty face.”

  Courtney smiled crookedly. "Was?"

  Falworth's head tipped. "As it happens...I saw him die. By Captain Shaw's own sword."

  “I may have forgotten to mention," Garrett said dryly, "he is with the wounded, on board the Falconer.”

  "He is not dead?" Falworth was visibly shaken.

  "Apparently he is a hard man to kill."

  Falworth's thoughts were spinning. “How badly wounded?”

  “Other than his pride, not too terribly. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “It certainly could be. Ballantine is a dangerous man to keep alive. It may come as an unpleasant surprise to you to learn he is not exactly what he appears to be.”

  “Seems to be a rather common occurrence these days," Garrett mused.

  The irony was not lost on Falworth. “Indeed, but in this case, his continued good health could bring trouble to both of us."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning he was only temporarily posted as the Eagle’s first lieutenant. In reality he is a senior captain on Commodore Preble’s personal staff. He was assigned to the Eagle with express orders to find the leak in our naval security and seal it. Permanently.” Falworth paused and his grip on the wine goblet tightened. “Fortunately I was warned of his mission in advance and was able to send him sniffing in another direction. Even so, his presence on board the Eagle made it necessary for me to exercise extreme caution.”

  “Is that why we were given no advance warning of the trap waiting for Duncan and myself at Moknine?” Garrett asked silkily.

  Falworth felt tiny beads of sweat start to gather between his shoulder blades.

  “My dear fellow, I did not know of it myself until Jennings held a private meeting in his quarters to reveal his orders after we were under full sail.” Falworth smiled tightly. “Believe me, if I could have warned you, I would have. I imagine Duncan Farrow’s gratitude would have kept me living in comfort for many years.”

  “And you have no idea who the Americans have as a contact within our camp?”

  Falworth pursed his lips. “Only one man might know that: Adrian Ballantine. And you have about as much chance of prying the information out of him as you have of squeezing water from a stone.”

  “I have drunk from many a stone in my time,” Shaw said easily.

  “Not from this one, you won’t. If he knows you want something from him, and if telling you meant he was committing treason or being disloyal to any of his compatriots—" Falworth shook his head— “he would watch you flay his grandmother alive before he would talk. Good heavens, he stood by and watched his best —and only—friend flogged bloody and did not step in to halt it.”

  “Are you referring to the doctor?”

  “Rutger, yes. Another rather simple-minded, but equally patriotic lout.”

  “And yet I am told it was Ballantine who halted the flogging of Nilsson and Seagram. That hardly sounds like the act of a man without a conscience.”

  “His interference was for purely pretentious reasons. He and Jennings shared a mutual contempt for each other. That was why it was relatively easy to point the lieutenant's suspicions in that direction."

  “And Court? Why would he help her?”

  Falworth turned slowly to meet the emerald green eyes. "He obviously wanted something."

  She met his gaze steadily, aware of Garrett’s eyes boring into her also. “You obviously want something as well, Lieutenant,” she said calmly. “Dare we guess what?”

  “Oddly enough, I want nothing that should put undue strain on either you or your coffers. I should like to be taken to Tripoli, as planned, and handed over to Karamanli to be ransomed back to the American navy—again, as planned—but with the stipulation, naturally, that I am to be treated as a trusted friend. I have no taste for the fugitive life, you see. I prefer the pomp and ceremony accorded a hero on his return home. Heroes are so much in demand these days, you know. I could resign my commission with full honors, or, should they place a higher value on my expertise, accept a promotion to an important position within the Admiralty.”

  "Then why reveal yourself at all?" Shaw asked for clarity. "Why risk the chance of your own men discovering your collaboration?"

  "You know yourself there are no guarantees which way the desert winds will blow. Karamanli may choose to ransom the Eagle's crew, or he may choose to put them in irons and have them hammer rocks for the rest of their days. And there is always the third option, that he may just hang them all in the public marketplace. Given those three possibilities, a guarantee for safe passage and a ransom home far outweighs the risk of discovery. And really—" he brushed a speck of dust off his sleeve— "who would even suspect me of being so duplicitous?"

  "Ballantine?"

  The flicking stopped and Falworth looked up. "As I said. A man far too dangerous to let live."

  Shaw steepled his fingers beneath his chin while he considered the sweaty sheen on Falworth's brow. “I presume you have something to offer in return? I mean, what is to stop me from selling you to the Americans myself as the traitor? No doubt they would pay handsomely for the privilege of stretching a mere lieutenant's neck, rather than that of a trusted captain."

  "They would indeed. But then you would have no intermediary to see you safely through the Straits of Gibraltar. You would have no guarantee that Preble would not send half the fleet to hunt you down, and certainly no one willing to swear that you and your ship were blasted out of the water by the treacherous, double-crossing Yusef Karamanli. Unless, of course, the life of a perennial fugitive appeals to you? Or to Miss Farrow? Or to Miss Gold? If you think the Americans are persistent now, wait and see their reaction when they discover the fate of the Eagle. The first American warship lost to a Barbary Coast pirate? There would not be an island far enough away for you to hide on."

  Shaw did not react outwardly; it was Miranda who leaned forward with interest.

  "You could gu
arantee us safe passage out of the Mediterranean? You could convince your navy that the Falconer was destroyed and her captain killed?"

  "No doubt you could provide wreckage and bodies, if they desired proof, but that would be an extreme measure. A simple change of name buys you anonymity, and once you are past the blockade line at the Straits you would be free to sail anywhere in the world without fear of hunters in your wake."

  Shaw’s fingers parted. “Gibraltar is blockaded? As of when?”

  “As of the middle of June, when the Eagle left port en route to Snake Island. The French, the Spanish, even the Portuguese have joined the effort and nothing, not even a fishing boat gets through the line without the proper codes for safe conduct. Commodore Preble has ordered every vessel coming and going stopped and searched topgallants to timbers. He is an ambitious man, determined to win this war and cleanse the earth of all undesirables along the Barbary Coast—no offence intended. The Falconer would never break through to open water, assuming you mean to escape by sea. If by land, well, the journey is a long and perilous one through desert and hostile territory. And since anything other than desert rats and camels tend to attract a great deal of attention in the sand dunes, my guess is, you would be received by military arms wherever you tried to emerge.

  "The third alternative, of course, is to remain in Tripoli under Karamanli’s protection. But long before he actually loses the war, which can only be weeks away at most, you can be sure he will offer up as many sacrifices as he thinks will buy him time.”

  “Garrett?” Miranda looked to Shaw for some sign that Falworth was exaggerating the gravity of the situation.

  Shaw’s hand warned her to silence. “What guarantee do we have that you can get us this safe passage? Or that you will even keep your word and not do the exact opposite of what you say and send the entire fleet down my throat to add fuel to your blaze of glory?”

  Falworth smiled wanly. “Were I to do that, how would I collect the fifty thousand gold double-eagles you intend to pay me for my services?”

  "Fifty thousand?" Shaw regarded him through hooded eyes before his even, white teeth flashed in a grin. “By Christ, I do admire your nerve. So much so, I will even give your offer consideration.”

  Falworth inclined his head slightly. “I should not dally too long in making a decision. Ballantine knows the fate you have planned for his ship and crew, and he will not swallow it peaceably, I can promise you.”

  “I should fear a single, unarmed man?” Shaw snorted derisively.

  “You should not underestimate him. Even unarmed and shackled to a wall, I would not turn my back on him."

  “The obvious question here would be to ask why you have not removed him long before now? An accident at sea, a misfired musket during battle? Either would have been simple enough to arrange.”

  “In truth, until two days ago I believed he could actually be of more use to me alive. As I said, he was all but convinced Jennings was the traitor, never more so than when I suggested the captain was to blame for his younger brother's death."

  “Were you responsible for that too?” Courtney asked quietly.

  “Ironically, no. It was a genuine accident, by all accounts. The boy slipped and fell and cracked open his skull on a block and tackle. But it served my purpose to let the lieutenant think it was no accident, to foster the belief that the boy overheard something he should not have whilst standing outside the captain's cabin.” He turned back to Shaw with a frown of annoyance. “I repeat, it would be a fatal error on your part if you were to underestimate Ballantine, as Jennings did.”

  The pads of Shaw’s fingertips traced a pattern around the rim of the crystal goblet, and he settled his glance on Courtney.

  “You look as though you disagree with the lieutenant.”

  Courtney shrugged as casually as possible. “Of course he wants Ballantine dead in order to ensure the safety of his own neck. As for his offer, he has betrayed his own country, his own men. What makes you think he would not betray us? His word? His demand for fifty thousand in gold?” She scoffed. “He would earn twice that much selling us out to the Americans.”

  “My dear Miss Farrow,” Falworth countered, “you are sadly misinformed if you think my government is generous with its purse strings. Karamanli’s demand for the far lesser sum of thirty thousand in tribute was the spark that ignited this entire war. Granted, you would be a valuable prize for them to capture, but to actually pay for the acquisition would be another matter entirely.”

  Courtney pushed to her feet with a loud scraping of the chair legs on the floor. “I have no use for traitors—on either side. When you come to your senses, Garrett, I would be delighted to share a meal with you again. Until then I think I shall take my meals with my crew.”

  “Now, Court—”

  “Good night, Captain Shaw,” she said frostily. A derisive glance toward Miranda and a scathing look at Falworth carried her to the door. She heard Garrett call out her name again but she ignored it and hastened along the narrow companionway. When she was on deck and waiting at the gangway for the boat that would row her back to the Falconer, she was finally able to breathe again without feeling like her heart was going to pound its way out of her chest.

  Would any of this have happened if, at the outset, she had simply been locked in the hold of the Eagle with Seagram and the other prisoners from Snake Island? Would she be torn apart now if she had never laid eyes on Ballantine, or spoken to him, or touched him? Would she have been able to sit and listen to Falworth’s proposition with a cool, clear mind? Duncan would have. He would have heard the Yankee out, as Garrett was doing. He would have weighed the advantages and disadvantages carefully and unemotionally, and would have expected her to do the same.

  Damn Adrian Ballantine for putting her in this position! She should have shot him when she’d had the chance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Courtney returned to the Falconer in such a foul mood, she neither acknowledged nor returned the greetings of the men she brushed past on the way to her cabin. Once inside, where no one could see her or hear her, she cursed and muttered and paced, pausing only to kick off the ridiculous green slippers. She tore aside the thick panel of cloth covering the gallery windows and unlatched one of the panels, throwing the shoes as far as she could. The filmy silk stockings followed next, along with the embroidered garters.

  The moon had not yet risen and the encircling arms of the cove drew only faint definition from the swath of stars overhead. Where the surf rushed up on shore, the peaks glowed an eerie, shimmery blue and from somewhere she heard the plop of a fish come to investigate the floating slippers.

  She turned away from the window and dropped the sheeting back in place. The cabin had been tidied and it was hard to believe she and Ballantine had been thrashing around on the floor barely two hours ago. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, wondering if she rubbed hard enough, would the images leave her mind. Sweaty, naked bodies tangled together, clothes scattered everywhere, on the floor, the desk, the—

  Her eyes popped open and she slowly turned to stare at the desk in sudden horror. It was, at first glance, just as she had left it. A sheaf of papers, a rolled chart, a quill and ink stand. The only thing missing was the pistol she had placed there when Ballantine had first entered the cabin.

  She ran quickly to the desk and yanked open the drawers, hoping against hope she had put the weapon away and forgotten. But she knew, as surely as she knew she would have done the exact same thing, that Ballantine had somehow managed to steal the gun. He had been standing beside the desk when he sent her to unbolt the door. She had turned her back on him for one second, and he had managed to slip the gun from the desk and conceal it in his clothes.

  “The fool,” she cried softly. “The bloody, arrogant fool!”

  “Harsh words. I hope they are not directed at me."

  Courtney gasped and whirled around. Garrett Shaw was standing in the doorway, a smile on his face and a bottle of wine i
n his hands.

  “Garrett!”

  "You were expecting someone else?"

  "No. No, of course not. You just startled me, is all. I did not hear the door open."

  He closed it just as quietly and gestured with the bottle of wine. “A peace offering? From an arrogant fool to a beautiful woman who I would not have angry with me for all the gold double-eagles in the world.”

  "I am not angry with you," she said. "Confused, perhaps, but not angry."

  He carried the bottle to the side table and uncorked it.

  She moistened her lips and glanced at the closed door. "You left Miranda on board the Eagle?"

  “I left Falworth in her capable hands.” Shaw smiled. “A shame to spoil the meal, however.”

  “I was not very hungry anyway."

  “Good. Neither was I.” His eyes flicked to the berth. “I would much rather finish the conversation we began earlier.”

  Courtney glanced at the berth as well, but only to wonder if the pistol she kept tucked behind the pillow was still there, or if it too had somehow found its way into Ballantine’s hands.

  Garrett filled two goblets and handed one to Courtney as he looked around the cabin. "I suppose, if we agree to Falworth's terms and give him the Eagle, I will have to move back in here."

  "I am sure I can find another, smaller cabin."

  "No need. This one is plenty big enough for two. Easier to keep you safe here too."

  "Safe? I have never felt unsafe on board the Falconer."

  “Agreed. No man on this ship would dare try his hand at taking what is mine, unless he had a wish to see an early grave.”

  “What is yours? You make it sound as if I have already been declared your personal property.”

  “You have objections?”

  “I object to any man telling me what I can or cannot do, where I can and cannot go, where I do or do not belong. You of all people should know that by now, Garrett Shaw.”