Sea of Desire

by Christine Dorsey

  Shaking her head, Merideth made her way down the ladder. She made her way aft along the passageway, past the officer’s quarters and the wardroom on the starboard side. When she reached the captain’s cabin she paused hand-on-latch. The smell of bilge water and tar stung her nostrils and she wished for a deep breath of sea air. Above her she could hear the men moving about, rolling cannon, readying for the battle. She had the strongest urge to run into the cabin, hide her head beneath the blanket, and pretend none of this was happening.

  But she couldn’t.

  Turning on her heel, Merideth retraced her steps along the companionway. She opened a lantern, removing the candle and protecting the flame with her cupped hand as she headed toward the afterhold. The deeper she went, the more the timbers groaned and the darker and danker it became. It reminded her vividly of the caves, but she took a deep breath and continued.

  Abner Pochet turned when she climbed down the ladder into the after hold. He stared at her a moment, then continued laying out the tourniquets. “Figured ye might show up,” was all he said.

  Merideth nodded to him and several other sailors who were readying the hold for surgery, and she set the candle in a holder. They’d already made a floor of wide boards over kegs. There were tables set up for equipment, others for patients needing surgery, and pallets on the floor to accommodate the wounded. After tying a towel around her waist, she asked, “What should I do?”

  “Get out the bandages.” He motioned with his pointy chin toward a large wooden box.

  Merideth opened the medicine chest, revealing rows of tiny drawers and glass vials. She set out the scraped lint, bunting, and rolls of bandages. As she was preparing the splints, Tim came down the ladder with word from the captain that they were nearly abreast of the enemy ship.

  “We’re ready down here,” Abner said as he carried a bucket of water to one of the tables.

  With all prepared, there was naught to do but wait. Merideth paced between the tables and pallets, sometimes straightening a blanket, most of the time simply wringing her hands. Even though she knew it would happen, the thunder of the first salvo caught her unawares. The after hold seemed to tremble, and Merideth caught hold of the ladder as the Carolina creaked and swayed.

  “That would be the warnin’ shot,” Abner said, looking as relaxed as if he were strolling along deck. “Doubt this will amount to much. Cap’n’s got the Quakers lined up on deck.”

  “The what?” Merideth tried to match the ship doctor’s nonchalance, but found she couldn’t.

  “Quakers,” Abner repeated. “The fake guns. Made a wood they be, but lookin’ for all the world like the real thing. Lookin’ down the throat a them plus our real guns is enough to put the fear a God in any respectable merchantman.”

  “You mean a trick? Another trick?” Nervous laughter escaped her. Jared Blackstone seemed to have a treasure trove of bluffs and ploys. With a sigh Merideth felt some of the tension flow from her shoulders just as another monstrous roar shattered the quiet.

  “That wasn’t our guns,” she said, her eyes large and round. “Was it?”

  “God’s crutch, nay.” Abner sucked in his breath as the Carolina strained against the blow. “The bastards mean to make a fight a it.”

  And make a fight of it they did—for the next two hours, as Abner and Merideth stopped bleeding with lint and smeared grease on burns.

  The wounded that made their way to the after hold told tales of the battle, of the exchange of volleys and tacking for position.

  “We’ll be boardin’ her soon,” Tim said as he scrambled down the steps.

  Glancing up from giving a sailor a drink, Merideth saw him. After carefully lowering the man’s head, she rushed to Tim.

  “Are you hurt anyplace?” She grabbed hold of his shoulders and spun the boy around to face her.

  “Nay, I’m fine.” Tim shrugged out of her hands. “I’m not a baby to be coddled.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I only thought...” There was no sense telling him of her worries. “What of the boarding? Are they giving up?”

  “Soon.” Tim’s countenance brightened. “Cap’n sent me down here to help. We’re rakin’ her stern now,” Tim said, raising his voice over the sound of the great guns. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she strikes her colors before we come aboard.”

  But the stubborn merchantman didn’t give up. It took a fierce hand-to-hand battle on her decks before her captain handed over his sword.

  “Must be carryin’ something dear,” Tim said when word finally came down that the fighting was over. “Else they wouldn’t a put up such a tussle.”

  “Well, I hope it was dear enough for the suffering it caused.” Merideth tied off a bandage around a young tar’s leg. His smoke-blackened face sweated profusely.

  “Now yer Ladyship, ye shouldn’t take on so. ‘Tis war, ye know.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  The crew of the Carolina won the day. Which didn’t surprise Merideth. And in truth she was hoping they would. Later that evening, in the captain’s cabin, she shook her head as she thought of her reaction to the battle.

  She was British, daughter of a peer of the realm. Certainly she should be loyal to her homeland. Hadn’t the captain’s implications to the contrary been enough to send her into a fit of denials?

  Yet here she was, content with—nay, actually wishing for—an American victory over her countrymen. Settling back on the window seat, Merideth pulled her knees up under her chemise and propped her chin. Earlier she’d shed her gown, which, despite her efforts to apron the skirt with a towel, bore bloodstains.

  At least none of the injuries sustained by the Carolina’s crew were serious. Most of the tars who’d made their way down to the after hold required no more than bandaging. Abner hadn’t had to use his amputation blade once, thank God.

  Her head lolled back against the chilled windowpanes. She was tired, too weary to ponder such weighty questions as loyalty, let alone rebellions and liberty. Such words were often bantered around by the Carolina’s sailors. The men obviously believed in what they fought for. But Merideth didn’t know anymore. She just didn’t know.

  As she clasped her locket, Merideth’s lashes drifted down. She didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until the opening of the door woke her. She smiled dreamily up at the captain. It was hours since she’d last seen him on deck before the battle. But she’d worried about him all day.

  She’d almost begun to think of him as invincible, till her gaze focused. “My God, what happened to you?” Merideth’s eyes widened, and she leaped from the padded bench.

  “ ‘Tis nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Fine! Fine?” The captain stood, his muscular legs spread against the sway of the ship, his jacket gone, his once white shirt in shreds. The left sleeve was stained a rusty red, and the arm inside it hung limply at his side.

  When Merideth grabbed for his hand, the lines etched about his sensual mouth deepened. “Ouch, dammit! Is this how you minister to the wounded down in the surgery?”

  “No, but then they have the sense to come below rather than bleed to death.”

  “I was never in danger of bleeding to death, Merry.”

  His use of her pet name was surprising, but she made no comment, for the captain didn’t seem to realize what he’d said. But the endearment, for that’s how she viewed it, softened Merideth’s tone. “Come sit on the bunk and let me see.”

  He looked at her, his green eyes shaded with suspicion and something else Merideth couldn’t read. But he followed as she took his right hand and guided him toward the bed. Once the captain, grunting with relief, was settled on the mattress, Merideth carefully peeled the tattered linen from his shoulders. It smelled of gunpowder and sweat, and it bore the coppery scent of blood.

  The cords of muscles across his shoulders and down the length of his arms tightened when she tried to unstick the cloth from his wound. And bright crimson mingled with the dark rust stain.

  �
�Christ, Merideth,” he hissed, yanking his arm from her hands.

  “Be still.” Straddling his bent leg, Merideth clutched his elbow. She narrowed her eyes, examining the blood, crusted and fresh, that covered his upper arm.

  “But the damn thing hurts,” Jared insisted.

  “I know that.”

  “Well, you don’t act like you know it.”

  Merideth just stared at him. It was all she could do to keep from crying and throwing herself at his feet. Her hands trembled from the effort of being brave and trying to help him when she thought of what might have happened.

  The wound wasn’t mortal, that was apparent, but it could have been. And she wanted to plead with him to never put himself in such danger again.

  But that was ridiculous. That was his life.

  “Come over to the bucket,” she finally said, and knelt on the deck when he did. Using the torn shred of his shirt, she sponged water down his shoulder, biting her bottom lip when his teeth clenched.

  “How did this happen?” she asked when the wound was free of material. She could now see the angry, swollen slash starting near his shoulder and slanting down toward his elbow.

  “Saber fight. The damn British captain was reluctant to surrender.”

  “And I suppose you wouldn’t have been.”

  “I didn’t lose, Merry,” he said, grinning, his teeth shining white in his dirt-streaked face.

  Oh, but you could have, Merideth thought, though she didn’t say it. She patted his arm dry and motioned for him to resume his seat on the bunk. “Did you kill him?”

  “Nay. A saber point to his throat convinced him the battle was over. He’s locked in his own brig, and a prize crew is aboard... What the hell are you doing?”

  “Threading a needle.” Merideth held her fingers to the lantern and squinted.

  “What the hell for?”

  “If I don’t sew your arm, there’ll be a scar.”

  “I’ve my share of scars anyway. Now wait a minute, Merideth, I’ve no desire for you to go at me with that needle.”

  “Yet you allow someone to go at you with a saber.”

  “That’s different. ‘Tis war.”

  “Then consider this the price you pay. Now give me your arm and don’t make a fuss.”

  He didn’t fuss, though beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip, where the whiskers were black and coarse. When she finished, Merideth brushed back the raven hair that had come loose from its queue during the battle.

  “Would you like some dinner? The galley fires must be relit by now.” Her own evening meal had consisted of sea biscuits and cold pork because the cook had not yet relit the flames he’d doused when the battle began.

  “Nay.” Jared stretched his long legs out on the bunk. “I could use a bit of whiskey.” He motioned with his free hand. “In the chest over there.”

  After finding the bottle among stacks of books, Merideth poured enough to cover the bottom of a pewter cup. His brow arched questioningly when she handed him the paltry amount. “Are you rationing me my own whiskey?”

  “What? Oh, no.” Merideth shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the memories the smell conjured up. “It’s just, that my father drank whiskey. Quite a lot of whiskey, actually. He was... not pleasant to be around...”

  “I’m not your father, Merideth. I don’t abuse drink.”

  She knew that. Apparently the bottle, near three-quarters full, had been in his sea chest all the while she’d been on board the Carolina, and she hadn’t seen him drink from it. Carrying the amber bottle, Merideth moved toward the bunk. She hesitated, then held it out to him.

  “ ‘Tis all right.” Jared swallowed the fiery liquid. “I think I need rest more than liquor anyway.”

  Merideth removed his boot, then helped him wipe his face clean and shrug out of his breeches. When he was beneath the covers she blew out the lantern.

  “Aren’t you coming to bed?” he asked, his voice soft in the darkness.

  Without another thought Merideth pulled the shift over her head and carefully climbed into the bunk. She snuggled into his good arm and pressed her body to his.

  The following weeks were the, best Merideth could ever remember. In spite of being on an enemy ship. In spite of the fact that she didn’t know what the future would bring. Or maybe it was more that she did know. At least she knew it would bring her unhappiness. So she tried to enjoy every minute.

  The weather was perfect, clear skies and freshening winds. The war seemed far away. Not an enemy vessel crossed the Carolina’s bow. And the captain himself was agreeable.

  At first she thought he spent more time with her in the cabin because of his wound. But only a few days after the battle, he proved to her that he could do, and do well, most everything he’d done before.

  She woke early and, being full of energy, decided to take a stroll on deck so as not to disturb him. She had just pulled a saffron-colored gown over her head when she heard his voice.

  “What are you about so early?”

  “Oh.” Merideth’s head popped through the neck of the dress and she smoothed the bodice over her ribs. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m getting dressed.”

  He slowly shook his head and the sight of his heavily lidded, sleepy eyes and tousled hair fired her blood. “But I thought I’d go on deck—”

  “Take it off, Merry.”

  Swallowing her breath coming in shallow gasps, Merideth met his eyes. “The gown?”

  “Aye, the gown. Take it off.”

  She did, slowly slipping it down over one shoulder, then the other. If the cabin was chilled, she no longer noticed, for the heat of his stare left her burning. The silk fell about her ankles in a soft whisper.

  “Now the shift,” he said, propping his shaggy black head on the bend of his elbow.

  Releasing the drawstring between her breasts, Merideth let the thin fabric glide down her body. When she stood before him, naked and drunk with desire, she watched as his eyes wandered over her.

  Her breasts, their nipples rucked and ripe, swelled beneath his gaze. Her pulse quickened when his eyes strayed lower.

  “Come here, Merry.” His voice was low and as rich as black velvet.

  “What of your wound?” Merideth moved forward.

  “ ‘Tis another part of me that aches far worse than any arm.” He glanced down to where the blanket tented below his waist.

  With a flick of her wrist, Merideth flipped the wool aside. He lay gloriously naked, swirls of midnight-black hair cradling his large, swollen manhood. He let her look her fill before reaching up and grabbing her

  “Come, Merry,” was all he said as he pulled her down to mount him.

  “He was fascinated by plants.”

  “Who?” They were sitting in the window seat one evening as dusk turned the sea and sky dark. Merideth’s feet were in the captain’s lap, and he idly traced the curve of her instep.

  “My brother. He was a fellow of the Royal Society, and he studied how flowers reproduce.”

  “Really.” This was the first he’d mentioned his twin since the truce between them began, and Merideth feared it might be the end of it. She didn’t know what she’d do if he began accusing her of betraying John Blackstone.

  “He was a genius. But then so were my parents. Both of them studied nature and kept journals full of observations. My father was in the Royal Society too.”

  “You’re very smart,” Merideth said in defense of the man she was growing to love more each day.

  He simply snorted as his eyes met hers. “Clever maybe, but not smart like they were. They were the kind of people who leave their mark on the world. Like Dr. Franklin.”

  “I still think—”

  He leaned forward then, brushing his lips across hers to silence her protest.

  “I’m a sea captain, Merry. Nothing more.”

  “Tim thinks you can do no wrong.”

  Merideth stood beside Jared on the leeward deck. She smiled up at him wh
en he glanced down in surprise.

  “He’s a fine lad.”

  “Mmmm,” Merideth agreed. “He told me how you found him on the docks after he ran away from the poorhouse at St. Philip’s. How you took him in.”

  “I needed a cabin boy.”

  “Tim said Skeeter was your cabin boy and you promoted him to sailor.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

  Merideth shrugged. “Not a thing.” She ran her finger along the polished rail. “He also says you teach him all about navigation. That you’re an expert.”

  “There are experts and there are experts,” Jared said, draping his arm around Merideth. After a fortnight it was almost as good as new. “Seeing that Tim knew nothing about the subject, I would think anyone would seem knowledgeable.”

  “He says the entire crew thinks you’re the greatest captain ever.”

  Jared turned to face her, his countenance sober. “Don’t make me out to be a saint, Merry. For believe me, ‘tis far from the truth. What?” He jerked around to look in the direction she pointed. “What is it?”

  “A gull,” Merideth said, her heart heavy. “We must be close to land.”

  “We are. Have been for days. I’ve been waiting for the moon to wane so we can slip past any British ships that might be blockading the port.”

  “So we’re here? We’re off Charles Town?”

  “Aye. And the night promises to be a dark one. We’ll slip into the harbor tonight.”

  He was pleased, she could tell that. But as he left their bed during the night watch to steer the Carolina through the shoals, all Merideth could think of was that the sojourn was over. Now she had to decide what to do.

  About Daniel Wallis.

  About Jared Blackstone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By first light the Carolina sailed past the American guns at Fort Johnson. If there was a blockade of the port, Jared had seen no evidence of it through the night. Even as they entered Rebellion Roads and could see the tall masts lining the wharves like a forest of leafless trees, Jared doubted the British were effectively slowing shipping to this city, at least.