Sea of Desire

by Christine Dorsey

  Horrified, her hand clasped to her mouth, Merideth retreated till her spine straightened against the mainmast. Men sweated and swore, sponging the great guns and lighting the fuses. There wasn’t a moment of quiet... a moment of peace. Smoke filled the air, making her eyes smart, and Merideth scrubbed at the tears that flowed down her cheek. This wasn’t what she’d expected.

  This was horrible, and she couldn’t imagine how these men endured it.

  More screams and curses drowned out Merideth’s sobs as another explosion filled the air with splintered wood. Fires erupted on the deck, and tars scrambled to dump sand and water on the burning wood.

  This was war and death. And Merideth could do naught but cringe against the mast.

  She heard a voice, loud and commanding above the din, a voice somehow reassuring in the midst of chaos. “Prepare to repel boarders! Prepare to repel boarders!”

  Merideth twisted her head to follow the sound of his voice. He stood on the quarterdeck, surrounded by smoke, his once white shirt grimy and torn, his dark hair loose from its queue. Surprisingly, she knew a moment of relief when she realized he wasn’t bleeding like so many of the others around her. But any such emotion was short-lived as he grabbed up a cutlass and ran toward the ladder leading from the quarterdeck.

  Another explosion was followed by a sound like a score of trees cracking in the wind. Merideth looked back toward Jared Blackstone. He was glancing up, into the sails, and then his eyes dropped and locked with hers. She saw shock, then anger and fear, and before she knew what he was about to do, the captain leaped from the quarterdeck.

  He landed on the run, grabbing her and throwing them both toward the far rail. They landed with a thud against a giant coil of rope just as a section of shrouds and sheared-off mast crashed onto the deck.

  Pain radiated from her shoulder and Merideth could barely catch her breath. She needed a moment to think about what had just happened, but the captain gave her none. With no compassion for her bruised arm, he clutched her to him.

  “You could have been killed,” he yelled above the tumult, his face close to hers. She concentrated on the flashing prisms of green in his eyes as the meaning of his words sank into her befuddled brain. “Do you never listen to orders?” With that he pulled her none too gently toward the hatch, climbing over large fragments of oaken mast that cluttered the deck where Merideth had stood just moments before.

  “Get below and stay there,” were the captain’s final words as he left her by the hatch and rushed toward the rail. Merideth swallowed and obeyed, but not before her gaze registered the carnage on the deck.

  Those sailors not manning guns were running about barefooted, grabbing pikes and firing muskets. The British ship was close, so close Merideth could plainly see her crew as they swung giant grappling hooks toward the Carolina’s deck.

  These were Englishmen, countrymen, and they were obviously winning the day. But Merideth couldn’t help wondering what would happen to the Americans who fought them so ardently.

  “Yer Ladyship. Why ain’t ye below?”

  Merideth turned as Tim came barreling toward her. He grabbed her arm, much as the captain had earlier, and pushed her down through the hatch.

  “Cap’n said I was to watch out for ye. But he said ye were down in his cabin.” The boy spoke as he scrambled down the ladder, forcing Merideth to bunch up her skirts and hurry to keep ahead of him.

  “Ain’t no place for ye up there,” he said, pulling her along the companionway.

  “It’s no place for anyone.” Merideth leaned against the bulkhead after she was shoved into the captain’s cabin. Here the sounds of fighting were only a little less vivid than on deck. “I wanted to see what was happening,” Merideth explained as she tried to catch her breath.

  “We’ve got ourselves in a tight one,” Tim said. He yanked something from his breeches. It was dark in the cabin, with no candle, but Merideth could make out a pistol.

  “Wh... what are you going to do with that?” Hard-faced and smeared with sweat and grime, he didn’t seem the same boy who had tossed his captain’s clothes about the cabin.

  “Protectin’ ye, like the cap’n said,” he answered simply.

  “I see.” Merideth didn’t think it wise to point out that she probably needed more protection from the captain than from the English attackers. But she couldn’t help the feeling of sympathy that swept over her when she thought of the American crew.

  Except for Captain Blackstone. He deserved whatever befell him for killing her father. Who cared that he swore he hadn’t done it? Who cared that he’d saved her from being buried beneath the falling mast? None of that mattered... or so Merideth tried to tell herself.

  She became so used to the musketry and clamor of battle that the return to quiet was jolting. Merideth sprang up from the bunk where she was sitting. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “I ain’t rightly sure.” Tim sat in the captain’s chair, the pistol pointed toward the door to the passageway.

  Night smothered the cabin under a blanket of uneasy darkness.

  “Let me light the flint so we can—”

  “Nay! We’ll keep it dark.”

  “But we can’t see,” she said, hoping Tim didn’t hear the panic in her voice.

  “Nor can we be seen.” Merideth heard the creak of the chair as Tim rose. He moved toward the door, cracking it open and allowing a sliver of light from the companionway to slice into the darkness.

  “Do you think the British have won?” The light was sufficient to read the look of disgust Tim sent her way.

  “Hush, someone’s comin’ ”

  Merideth peeked over Tim’s shoulder in time to see Captain Blackstone striding toward them. He looked tired and dirty... but not defeated.

  Tim stuffed the pistol back into his breeches and swung the door wider in welcome. All his seriousness seemed to evaporate, leaving in its place the curious lad. “What ‘appened, Cap’n? Did you blast them back to Lan’s End?”

  “Not quite.” Jared let out his breath, quickly assuring himself that Lady Merideth and Tim were all right. “We did keep them from boarding us. But I’ve got to tell you, it doesn’t look good.” Jared addressed his comments to Tim, though he watched his English captive from the corner of his eye.

  “But if ye repelled them, then—”

  “The onset of night had as much to do with that as our crew. The British are a cocky lot.” Now his gaze did shift to Merideth. She met his stare square on. “They’re thinking we’re doomed and have pulled back to wait for first light to finish us off,” Jared continued.

  “Finish us off?” Tim seemed unable to comprehend the meaning.

  “The mainmast is down, and we’ve a leak on the lee side.”

  “So we’re just...” Tears clogged Tim’s throat. “Givin’ up?”

  “Nay.” Jared’s voice was firm, but Merideth could see in his eyes that he wasn’t certain. “We’re hoping we can patch up the hull. But we won’t surrender without a fight. ‘Twas why I came below.” That, and to check on their safety. “There’s work to be done.”

  “Ye can count on me.”

  “I knew I could.” Jared clasped the boy’s shoulder. “Get above, and be quick about it.”

  Tim scampered out of the cabin, leaving the captain framed in the wedge of light. He seemed so large and formidable that Merideth couldn’t help a small step back. “I hope you aren’t giving him anything dangerous to do.”

  “Everything on a privateer is dangerous. But Tim can handle more than you think. He’s a good sailor.”

  “He’s a boy,” Merideth countered.

  “True enough. But he’s a sensible lad who listens to orders and knows what he’s about.”

  His earlier chastisement about her failing to obey and nearly getting herself killed in the process echoed back to her ears. Merideth straightened her shoulders. “I suppose I owe you my gratitude for—”

  “I’m not interested in your thanks.” Jared stepped f
urther into the cabin when he noticed her chin jerk up. “I’ve come to give you a choice.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Stay here, locked in the cabin alone... with no light.” He saw the color leave her face, and wished he didn’t have to insist on the darkness. Her eyes held a shadow of the same expression as when he planned to put her in the cave. “Or assist in the surgery.”

  “I don’t know anything about taking care of wounds.”

  Jared shrugged and moved into the companionway. Her hand on his arm, where his sleeve was torn, stayed him from shutting the door.

  “I would help if I could.” A subtle lift of his brow had her adding the word “really.” She couldn’t stop thinking of those poor men she’d seen during the battle. Burned. Bleeding.

  “Wait!” Merideth called out before he could latch the door. “I’ll do it. I’ll help in the surgery.”

  Jared swung back into the room. “If I let you out of here, I must have your word that you won’t cause trouble.”

  “You’d take my word?” Now it was Merideth’s turn to arch her brow.

  “Aye. At the moment I have little choice. My men are suffering, and there’s much to do this night.”

  He did care about the wounded she’d seen on deck. Merideth saw the concern in his eyes. And she couldn’t fault him for it. No matter what else there might be between them. “You have my word, then.” Merideth hesitated. “For this night.”

  He seemed to think on that a moment, then nodded. Taking her hand, he shut the cabin door behind them and led the way toward the makeshift surgery.

  As they approached the afterhold the pitiful cries of the wounded grew louder, and Merideth came close to changing her mind. Surely she could stand a night in the closed-up cabin, especially knowing the morn would bring release from her captivity. She owed these Americans, especially their captain, nothing of herself.

  But before she could make known her change of heart, the captain’s hand tightened around hers. Not in punishment, but in empathy for his suffering crew. Merideth couldn’t help squeezing his fingers in response. He paused before the ladder that led down to the surgery, and looked at her. The only light came from a sputtering candle stuck into the bulkhead.

  Merideth held her breath, waiting for him to say something... to do something. But he only stared, his expression unreadable, before leading the way down the ladder. He did little more than point out the surgeon before climbing back up to the companionway, leaving Merideth alone with the blood-splattered doctor and the wounded men.

  This area contained no windows and was ablaze with light from many candles. Large planks had been set on barrels to make a platform. On that flooring were tables and pallets where wounded men lay. Merideth watched as the surgeon, a large man with grizzled hair that stuck out in every direction, tightened a tourniquet around a sailor’s arm.

  Below the metal sleeve with its grisly-looking screw, nothing remained but a bloody stub. Merideth stared at it and her knees grew weak. Smells of blood and camphor filled the air, turning her stomach into a quivering knot. She must have made a sound, for the doctor shifted his attention from his patient to where she stood, back against the ladder rungs.

  “Don’t just stand there looking like death warmed over, girl. There’s work to be done. Fetch me that bottle.” He jutted his chin toward a corked container, and Merideth jumped to comply. She brought it toward him, careful to keep her eyes away from the man spread out on the table.

  “Now,” he ordered, “give me a swallow.” While the doctor’s hands stayed on his patient, Merideth tipped the bottle to his lips. He drank of the rum greedily, but shook his head when she offered him another drink. “They be needing it more than me,” he said, motioning toward the men lying on pallets.

  After that, Merideth had no choice but to move among the wounded, offering a drink here, a comforting word there. She packed cuts with lint and smeared grease over burns. And though she thought she’d be sick, she held down a man while the doctor pulled large splinters of wood from his leg.

  Merideth had no idea how long she’d been in the makeshift surgery when she straightened, rubbing the small of her back as she did. Work was not new to her. She did her share and more at Banistar Hall. Work that wouldn’t get done if she sat in the drawing room stitching all day. But she’d never been as tired as she was now.

  “Give yourself a break,” the doctor whose name she’d learned was Abner Pochet said. She’d also learned that his qualifications for the job of ship’s doctor included a deft hand with the saw, a strong stomach, and a smattering of apothecary knowledge. During quieter times aboard ship, he was a carpenter.

  “You’ve been at it longer than I,” Merideth countered, though she dearly wished to return to the captain’s cabin, bury her head neath the down pillow, and forget all that had happened in the past fortnight. But she was realistic enough to know that could never be.

  “Aye.” Abner scrubbed his hands down the leather apron covering his breeches, smearing it with more blood, then reached for the bottle of rum. He swallowed loudly... appreciatively. “But I be a burly man, and you but a slip of a lass.”

  Merideth couldn’t help the laughter that escaped. Abner had first told her that when she’d offered to hold down a tar whose leg was broken. She’d but looked at him, grabbed the sailor’s shoulders as gently and firmly as she could, and held on while Abner set the bone.

  The good “doctor” had repeated his comparison several times during the ensuing hours... each time Merideth helped with some task he deemed unsuitable for her. And each time his black eyes sparkled a bit more.

  “I’ve an idea,” he said now. “What if we both rest ourselves a spell?”

  “Do you think we should?” Merideth quickly scanned the hold with its cargo of wounded and dying.

  Abner’s gaze followed hers. “Won’t do any of them a speck of good if ye drop over, now will it?”

  “No.” Merideth tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “But I’m a far cry from dropping over.”

  “Maybe so. But I ain’t. Besides, that appears to be Tim with some victual.”

  Merideth turned to see the boy coming down the ladder balancing a tray on his hip. Rushing forward, she grabbed up the bucket he carried.

  “ ‘Tis some fresh water for ye,” he said. “And some gruel. Ain’t hot,” he added with a grimace. “Cap’n said no fires till we’re outa this mess.”

  “Out of it?” Merideth’s surprise was obvious. “I thought we were simply holding on until morning.” Keeping afloat until the British came aboard. That was certainly what she thought they were about.

  “Phew,” Tim snorted, and Abner rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t know the cap’n very well, does she?”

  “Actually I barely know him at all... and that’s fine with me, but I fail to see what that has to do with anything. From what I understand, we are sinking and have no mast to hold sail. It seems obvious our only choice is to surrender.” She was counting on it. She’d been working this long night away, knowing in her heart that the morrow would see her safe and sound upon an English vessel bound for home.

  Now Tim’s and Abner’s expressions—as if the two were privy to a wonderful secret—deflated her feelings of anticipation. “What is it? Why do you find the notion of surrendering so humorous?”

  The boy looked at the man, who merely shrugged.

  With a mim movement of his shoulders, Tim spoke. “Cap’n, he patched up the leak. Used a stretch of canvas and tied it on hisself.”

  “So what if we aren’t sinking. We’ve no way to move.”

  “We’re moving right now,” Tim countered. “Them Limeys gonna wake up at dawn and find us nowhere at all. Maybe they’ll think we just sunk under their noses.”

  “I... I don’t understand.” All of a sudden the hold seemed very warm.

  “We used our sweeps to get away,” Tim chuckled.

  “Sweeps?”

  “Oars, yer Ladyship. Cap’n had us muffle ‘em wi
th bits of sail to keep the noise down, then we stuck ‘em through the oar ports and rowed away in the dark. And all the while crews were up in the shrouds jury-riggin’ the sails.”

  He seemed proud enough to bust about his captain’s achievements—sneaking away from the cocky enemy. And Merideth... Merideth felt sick. They weren’t going to be captured by the British. She was going to remain a captive of the horrible Captain Blackstone. Gray dots swam before her eyes, and her stomach recoiled. She glanced about for a place to sit, but her two companions were faster.

  “Me God, she’s a gonna swoon clear away.”

  “Here, yer Ladyship, sit yerself here.”

  “Sittin’ ain’t enough.”

  “No, really.” Merideth held up her hand in protest, but her head was forced down between her spread knees anyway.

  “What’s going on in here?” As if on cue, Jared stepped into the hold in time to see Abner and Tim kneeling beside Merideth Banistar.

  “Her Ladyship took sick,” Tim explained, giving Jared no more than a glance.

  “She did, did she? ‘Twas my impression she was to be helping with the wounded rather than adding to the sick list.”

  “I’m fine, really.” Merideth bobbed her head up and Abner caught it with his wide-palmed hand, shoving it back down.

  “She ain’t well, Cap’n. But it ain’t her fault. She done a powerful lot... especially for a little slip of a—”

  “I said I’m fine and I am.” Merideth bounced out of the chair before Abner and Tim could stop her. She wasn’t going to let the despicable captain think she was some whiny female who fainted at the first sight of blood. Unfortunately, her abrupt movements didn’t allow time for her head to adjust to the idea of standing.

  She’d barely taken three steps toward the captain when everything went black.

  “What the...” Catching her before she hit the deck was a reflex action.

  The first thing Merideth saw when her eyes drifted open was the captain’s broad, bare back. He was standing beside his sea chest, unfolding a clean shirt—a shirt she had washed. Blinking, she tried to remember what had happened. Why was she lying on the cot in Captain Blackstone’s cabin, watching him... change his clothes?