Alastair caught Cobbs’s eye, then tapped his own pocket meaningfully. A moment later the lilting notes of a flute filled the air. “’Tis a sweet sound, a soothing sound,” Alastair murmured.
The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blue-red wine.
“O where will I get guid sailor,
To sail this ship of mine?”
Rhea Claire listened to the beautiful baritone of the Scotsman MacDonald accompanying the music. She glanced up at the tall masts swaying over her head, the square white sails billowing as they filled with the trades. Sighing, she experienced a strange melancholy, for she was feeling both a sadness and a happiness of mind and spirit as she sailed into the West Indies on board the Sea Dragon.
“Make haste, make haste, my merry men all,
Our guid ship sails the morne.”
O say no, sir, my master dear,
For I fear a deadly storm.
A deadly storm, mused Rhea. How different this voyage was from that other one. She shuddered uncontrollably as she suddenly remembered the freezing cold that had penetrated to the bone marrow, and the black terror of that hold when she had thought to feel the ocean’s might come roaring in on her with the foundering of the ship. She felt at times as if she had come out of the darkness into light. And even though she still did not have her freedom, and Camareigh might be on the far side of the world, she at least had a feeling that she was going to survive. A strange way to feel, considering she was being held captive by a smuggler and his crew.
Rhea felt something butting determinedly against her leg and glanced down to see her first friend on board the Sea Dragon. Jamaica seemed to sense her intent, for he jumped up into her lap before she had time to pat it invitingly. Rhea scratched his chin, eliciting a rumbling response of smug pleasure from the big tomcat.
I saw the new moon late yestreen
Wi’ the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we’ll come to harm.
Rhea Claire breathed deeply of the warm, salt-scented air of the quickly approaching Caribbean twilight. There was a subtle seductiveness in this balmy breeze that felt like silk against her skin, and she had to guard against being lulled into passivity. But that was hard to do when she was surrounded by people she was beginning to think of as friends.
How could she despise the funny little man who took such extra care in preparing his special broths and stews for her? And she certainly couldn’t dislike a small boy named Conny Brady, who reminded her almost painfully of Robin as he tried to think up games to amuse her. And what of Alastair Marlowe? How could anyone think him other than a gentleman? He reminded her a little of Francis, and yet her brother, even at his much younger age, had assumed a certain sophistication of manner that Alastair would never succeed in acquiring. In fact, he reminded her more of her cousin Ewan. Yes, Ewan. Dear, sweet, practical Ewan, who always felt awkward when left to amuse her by himself. He was consumed by a sudden loss of words, he had once confided to her during one of those uncomfortable silences, and she suspected that Alastair suffered from a similar malady.
Half howre, half howre to Aberdour,
’Tis fifty fathoms deep;
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
With the Scots lords at his feet!
And then there was Alec MacDonald the Scotsman, who had fought beside her own great-grandfather at Culloden, and after surviving the slaughter on the battlefield had made a new life for himself in the colonies. How could she possibly feel threatened by a man who sang with such depth of feeling that his mates were left sitting in silence? When he had discovered that she was the great-granddaughter of Ruaiseart MacDanavel of Timeredaloch, his eyes, as blue as a Highland loch, had filled with tears. And even though she was the daughter of an English duke, she was, in the Scotsman’s eyes, a daughter of the Highlands, and he had begun to treat her as though she were one of his kin.
Her deepest sadness came when she remembered Camareigh and found herself wondering what her family was doing at that exact moment. Was Robin out riding on Shoopiltee perhaps, or had her brother been up to mischief and confined to his rooms in punishment? Was Francis still taking fencing lessons from that temperamental dandy from France, or had he outmastered the master? Francis had become quite a swordsman, and Rhea was proud of her brother’s skills, yet she hoped he would never have to prove them in a duel to the death with a bloodthirsty opponent. Perhaps Aunt Mary and Uncle Terence were at Camareigh and the family was planning a picnic on the lawns, or… No, Rhea laughed silently, for it was still winter in England, and there might even be snow on the ground. There would be no picnics at Camareigh until spring—and by spring she would be home again.
Alys. The young girl’s frightened face drifted into her memory. Alys was never far from her thoughts and she wondered what had been the fate of her friend from the London Lady. When she reached Camareigh, Rhea vowed, she would tell her father about Alys, and he would see that she was found, and if she wished, brought back to Camareigh.
“I will not forget you, Alys. I promise you, I will not forget about you,” Rhea whispered, the memory of Alys’s terrified screams as she was dragged from the ship still echoing in her ears.
“Lady Rhea Claire.” A harsh, imperative voice cut through her thoughts and startled her from her troubled reflections. As if sensing that he now had her attention, Dante’s voice became softer, almost silky. “Lady Rhea Claire, if you please? I should like to have a word with you.”
Rhea instinctively met Alastair’s sympathetic gaze, for the captain’s words were a command, not a request. With a small shrug, Rhea stood up, still holding Jamaica firmly in her arms. With a look of genuine regret on her face, she said to the disappointed cabin boy, “You shall have to teach me that again. Although I suspect that I shan’t be any more competent at it tomorrow, Conny.”
“You learned the other knot, Lady Rhea. You can learn this one too,” Conny told her confidently, certain she could do anything.
“Aye, lass, ye’ve nimble fingers,” MacDonald agreed, blowing a cloud of blue smoke over their heads. “We’ll be makin’ a sailor out of ye yet, and then yon popinjay just might be findin’ himself out of a job,” MacDonald commented, eyeing Barnaby Clarke, who had assumed his position at the wheel, but seemed more interested in the activities around the companion ladder. “Of course, there is one thing to be thankful fer, and that’s that we’re not downwind of him.”
“Ye don’t s’pose a sweet honeysuckle vine was entwinin’ itself around the wheel during the wee hours, d’ye?” Fitzsimmons asked with a look of such concern on his handsome face that Conny swung around to take a peek, just in case the wheel had sprouted honeysuckle.
“Gentlemen? I believe you all have duties to perform if we are to reach Antigua safely,” the captain of the Sea Dragon reminded his crew, a slight look of annoyance on his face at being kept waiting for Rhea Claire to join him on the poop deck.
Holding Jamaica securely and steadying herself on the railing, Rhea slowly climbed the steps. Neither the ship’s slight heeling, nor the captain’s waiting figure at the top of the steps helped her move any faster. When she stumbled over the hem of her skirt for the second time, she felt hard hands that she remembered only too well grasping her around the upper arms and lifting her onto the firm planking of the deck.
“Thank you,” Rhea said stiffly, avoiding the gleam in the pale eyes, which had become all too familiar to her. “You wished to have a word with me, Captain Leighton?” Rhea inquired with an almost little-girl politeness of manner. At this, the uninvited vision of the way she must have been at ten years of age suddenly intruded into Dante’s thoughts, which was something that did not sit well in a man’s mind, for she did not seem much different from that girl now.
Dante’s lips tightened at this uncomfortable reminder of her youthful innocence. B
ut then, perhaps that was the intent of those wide violet eyes, so guileless and clear of guilt. “I feel I have been remiss in my duties as your host while you have been aboard my ship. I hope you will forgive me my abruptness of manner, but I have had many worries on my mind of late,” Dante explained, smiling in a way that had seldom failed to gain him favor in a woman’s eyes.
But this time it failed, for there was no responding smile, nor any bashful fluttering of lashes over Lady Rhea Claire Dominick’s eyes. There was only a look of wary disbelief at this surprising admission and apology from the captain of the Sea Dragon. Then, as their eyes met and held, that other expression entered her eyes, the one he had seen too often not to recognize. Only then did she glance away from him, a rosy blush staining her cheeks.
He knew, without her ever having said a word, why she was so distant with him, why she was different with him than with any other member of the crew. After all, no other man on board the Sea Dragon had lain with her. No other man’s hands had caressed that pale flesh; no other man had buried his face in that sweet-scented golden hair. Dante sensed, by the manner in which her eyes sometimes rested on his lips, that she remembered well the feel of his manhood pressed against her body. And once he had caught her lightly touching her lips before her eyes had strayed to his, and he had known that she was remembering the taste of his mouth against hers.
“I have been well looked after, Captain,” Rhea replied coolly, while she rubbed her cheek against the top of Jamaica’s head. By lavishing her attention on the pleased tomcat, she seemed to dismiss Dante’s presence as unimportant.
“Yes, I am well aware of that fact, Lady Rhea Claire,” the captain agreed as he saw Conny approaching with a tray bearing a small silver mug, evidence of the fact that Kirby hadn’t wasted any time after going below. “You seem to have a way with animals and children, not to mention foolish old men.”
“Mr. Kirby thought ye’d like a sip of his special lemonade, Lady Rhea. It tastes mighty good for somethin’ that’s supposed to keep sickness away,” Conny informed her, proudly presenting the tray and effectively halting anything she might have said in response to the captain’s mocking words.
“Thank you, Conny,” Rhea responded with the smile that Dante had been trying without success to coax only moments before.
Jamaica sniffed curiously at the mug, but not caring for the contents, he jumped from Rhea’s arms and disappeared down the ladder, his destination most likely the galley and the little steward, who might be finagled into contributing a tasty scrap from his dinner preparations.
“I was just about to call Lady Rhea Claire’s attention to the dolphins swimming off the starboard bow,” said the captain of the Sea Dragon to the cabin boy, who was beaming his approval as Rhea drank the lemonade with obvious enjoyment.
“Dolphins? I’ve never seen any. I have only read about them in ancient Greek legend,” Rhea said, her interest captured.
“You can read?” Dante asked in surprise, his earlier doubts about that achievement still evident in his tone.
“Yes, Captain, I can. And I am quite accomplished at my letters, so should you require assistance in transcribing your logbook, I shall be more than happy to oblige,” Rhea offered generously, her smile full of understanding should he be less than skilled in the art.
Dante remained silent for a moment, and even Conny could feel the tension mounting between the two people he idolized more than any others in his wide acquaintance. But then, when he heard the captain’s deep laugh, he sighed in relief as he accepted the empty mug from Lady Rhea.
“My, my, you are quite the accomplished young woman,” Dante murmured thoughtfully as he eyed her up and down. “I shall remember your kind offer, m’lady, and should I find myself in dire need of your services I shall not hesitate to call upon them. I should like to know, however,” he added with the devilish glint in his eye that Rhea was coming to know too well for her peace of mind, “if this means that you will be available to me at any hour, say noontime, perhaps, or even in the midnight hour? And what is to be the extent of these services you have so charmingly offered me?” He had spoken so softly that Rhea had a hard time catching his words, but his expression left little doubt in her mind about what he might be referring to.
It passed over Conny’s head, however, like so much spindrift on the wind. “Mr. Marlowe’s been teachin’ me how to read, Lady Rhea. Been learnin’ how to write me letters real good too. Someday I’ll be havin’ me own ship to sail and me own logbook to fill in from noon to noon,” Conny confided, his sea-blue eyes filling with the tall image of the captain of the Sea Dragon.
“I believe you shall, young Conny,” Dante commented. When he saw the cabin boy’s delight, Dante relented toward the girl whom he was beginning to feel was his other young charge. He gestured to the railing. “Would you care to view the dolphins, Lady Rhea?” he asked with no visible sign of mockery.
“Yes, please… Thank you,” Rhea said hesitantly, not fully understanding the sudden change in his mood. Then, with a determined set to her chin that would have been recognized by her family, she promised herself that she would try to remain civil with this unpredictable man who held her freedom in his grasp. “Conny?” she inquired as the cabin boy started back toward the ladder leading to the quarterdeck.
“With your permission, Cap’n, may I go below? Mr. Kirby said to look lively or he’d have me peelin’ potatoes until the sun came back o’er the foreyard,” Conny explained, gazing yearningly at that place beside Lady Rhea at the railing.
“Very well, Mr. Brady. You’ve had your orders, see that they’re followed, for we certainly do not wish an irate cook or we shall never dine,” the captain remarked, thinking of his steward’s grumpiness of late. “What is he so diligently preparing?” he asked a concerned Conny.
“Apple and orange puddin’, Cap’n, sir!” Conny called back as he disappeared down the ladder.
“And no doubt he shall be licking the bowl clean,” Dante murmured with a grin as he met Rhea’s smile. For once neither of them harbored any pretense as they shared this moment in a companionable silence.
“’Tis considered a good omen to have the dolphin lending escort to your ship. Some feel it is a sure sign of a safe voyage for your ship and crew,” Dante explained as they watched the frolicking dolphins swimming alongside the prow of the Sea Dragon, their comical cries and shrill whistles drifting up with the salt spray to blend with the creaking of the masts and thundering of the sails.
“And do you believe that is true, Captain Leighton?” Rhea asked, turning her gaze reluctantly from the shining gray shapes gliding just beneath the surface. But that had been a mistake, since he had leaned in closer to her in order to catch her words, and now their faces came close to touching, and Rhea found her eyes drawn almost irresistibly to the finely cut outline of his lips.
“Naturally I believe it is so. I might mock many things, Lady Rhea, but never the sea, nor her creatures. I would be a short-lived fool to do that. The sea is much like a woman, I suspect,” Dante continued, his eyes holding Rhea’s. “She can be unforgiving. Make a mistake, only one, and it might very well be your last one,” he predicted. Then, so casually that Rhea was caught unaware, Dante had captured the long, golden rope of hair that so fascinated Conny and was wrapping it around his fist. “Are you unforgiving, Rhea?” he asked, his gaze looking deeply into hers, as if searching for something that had thus far eluded him.
Then he was grinning, for he could read her damning answer in the aloof profile she seemed determined to present to him despite the increasing tension on her hair. “I suppose it is too much to ask of you. You are so damned young.”
“Not too young to know right from wrong, Captain. I do not condemn you for your actions in Charles Town, however brutish they might have been,” Rhea declared, willing to let bygones be bygones if it might help gain her freedom. “You found me trespassing on board the Sea D
ragon, and being a smuggler and well accustomed to double-dealings, you naturally assumed the worst of my motives. And I admit that the evidence did seem damning at the time, but I have explained about that wine bottle and the map. You seem to think that I have designs upon it and, more unlikely yet, upon your title. But I assure you, Captain Leighton, I have no interest in either one of your prized possessions,” Rhea told him, her expression so honest that only a blind man could have doubted her.
The captain of the Sea Dragon, however, listened in amusement, for this spirited discourse was most intriguing. Not only had m’lady fair forgiven him, but insulted him as well—and in the very same breath.
“Thank you, my dear, for setting my mind at rest. I have been having the devil of a time sleeping of late, thinking you about to crawl into my bunk. I s’pose I need not have worried after all about locking my door. Lud, but I was safe all the while.”
“Mock me, Captain, but it is the truth. I realize you have only my word on that, and since you are reluctant to believe anything I say, I fear I am wasting my breath. But my word is the word of a Dominick, and that is a name I will never disgrace. Nor will my father take kindly to having his daughter humiliated and held against her will,” Rhea informed him with a haughty look that masked well her inner trembling.
“That sounds like a warning, or perhaps even a threat?” Dante asked.
“A warning, Captain, for you may be dealing with me now, but sooner or later you shall have to answer to my father, and he is not a man many would care to anger. If, as you say, you do remember him, then you know I do not exaggerate. That is why, Captain Leighton, I am willing to make you a proposition,” Rhea said boldly, turning her back on caution in her fight for her freedom.
Chance the Winds of Fortune Page 44
