A Captain and a Rogue (Mills & Boon Historical)

by Liz Tyner

  Once she’d grasped both sides of the railing, and stood, watching nothing more than water and more water in front of it, she could see from the corner of her eye that he put one arm on the rail and leaned into it, standing almost with his back against the side of the ship. He was as close to her as he could be without touching. She turned, looking to the stern, and he moved, just a bit, and blocked the view behind them. She was trapped. And she realised it. She couldn’t see anything except the captain blocking her sight. And her back was to the rails.

  ‘I feel a bit confined,’ she said.

  ‘The nature of sailing, if one is not used to it. Don’t concern yourself, though. We may be one small speck in a vast ocean, but you never know when you’ll see another ship.’

  He moved aside and extended his reach in a gesture of gallantry, letting her move back into the ship.

  *

  Thessa walked back into the cabin alone. Bellona was not inside and Thessa was thankful.

  She had not known a man could be like the captain. He’d told her about himself and his dislike of his father. And how the man had sent him away.

  She’d once waited until her father had finished painting and was washing his brush, before asking him to take them all to England. He’d said no. That they could not understand London ways. They did not have the proper knowledge of pianoforte or drawing to become true ladies in England.

  Bellona had been playing with a stick, pretending it a sword. Thessa could not remember if Bellona had hit the wet canvas with the sword, or if her own elbow had nudged the art when she dived to prevent Bellona from damaging the painting. The easel fell. Sand coated the wet paint. The picture was ruined.

  Her father had sworn at them, calling them nothos. He’d claimed no man in London would ever want them in his house.

  He’d been railing at her so he’d hardly paused when little Bellona had walked up to him and slapped his leg with the stick, but he reached down and jerked the wood from Bellona’s hand and attacked his picture with it.

  Their mother had stepped outside and the girls had run to her. They’d left their father to fight his painting and their mother had sent them to visit their aunt.

  Days had passed before their mother came for them and said they could come home.

  Even now, Thessa knew how much she loved her mother, but she’d not been able to understand why her mother hadn’t just told their father never to return.

  Whenever Thessa thought of Bellona hitting her father and how much bigger he’d been than the both of them, she always felt a tug at her heart, but she also worried about her sister. Slapping a twig at an angry man didn’t always end well.

  Bellona walked into a room. ‘The men on this ship are afraid to talk to me.’

  ‘They are scared of us.’

  Bellona shrugged. ‘I think they are more scared of the captain. No one would more than grunt towards me when I asked a question, so I asked the cabin boy why. He said the first mate has warned the men it would put the captain in a temper if they speak to us.’

  ‘Perhaps it is for the best.’

  ‘You say that because you are so busy cozening up to the captain.’ She frowned and swayed her shoulders from side to side. ‘Melina—Stephanos wanted her. And the other Englishman fancied her, as well. She left us and then Stephanos changed his attention to you. Now the captain walks with you and he is not afraid. But I step out and everyone turns his head away.’

  ‘I told you—they are being careful.’

  She raised an arm. ‘First you and Melina try to keep me from men. And now the captain does. Mikis didn’t even truly wish to marry me. Before that, I had to threaten that French sailor who kept calling me Thessa and scratching inside his trousers. Why is it that all the ones who slither like me?’

  ‘You never told me he scratched there.’

  ‘Yes. He scratched everywhere, but that one place was his most favourite.’ She crossed her arms. ‘All I want,’ Bellona said, ‘is a man who does not stink, does not scratch, does not make rude noises, does not paint, does not sail a boat, does not call me by my sister’s name and does have a proper way about him. I would like his hands to be clean enough that I do not have to wash after he touches me and I would like not to know what he just ate by looking at his teeth.’

  Thessa nodded. ‘So a man without teeth will do for you. Good.’

  Bellona put her hands over her face. ‘And I will have to live with you until I find him.’

  ‘I hope not. You are not an easy person to live with.’

  Bellona let her hands fall to her sides. ‘I think I will walk around the deck again and again. Perhaps it is not so unpleasant not to be spoken with.’

  *

  Benjamin commanded himself to his cabin and shut the door. He was on his ship, yet he was in an unfamiliar land. Thessa. He just wanted to stop thinking of her.

  Sitting at his table, he picked up his journal, opened it in front of him, but he didn’t reach for the ink. No, he wanted to think of her.

  His imagination watched her slip through the sea with ease. He could see her dive beneath the surface and skim just below, and burst upwards, breaking the stillness of a calm world which contained only the two of them.

  He imaged her fingers. So slender. He could see them stroking the strings of a harp, or slowly gliding across his abdomen, leaving a trail of heat which would burn into his body.

  No—he should not imagine such things, and yet he could not stop. He jotted notations in his journal, hardly aware he wrote.

  Benjamin tensed and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. If he swam with her, perhaps it would cure him of his madness. In England, his brother’s estate had the stream with a pool where he’d learned to swim and he would take Thessa there if he could convince her.

  He reminded himself that to swim with a woman did not mean he had to bed her. He just needed to swim with her. She could wear trousers and shirt for all he cared. Well, perhaps not trousers and shirt. She was delectable in the wet chemise. He’d held her when he brought her on board and she’d smelled nothing like the men did when they got soaked at sea.

  A woman with the scent of warm skin and island spice could bring any man to his knees.

  Swimming with her would be better than bathing with any mystical goddess.

  Warrington must never find out, though, because after all, this was his dear wife Melina’s beloved sister. There were not enough pedestals in War’s opinion to place his wife above, so he certainly would take offence if Ben touched her sister.

  Dane, bookish Dane, who didn’t look strong enough to survive a cough, but could near pull a tree from the ground with his bare hands—would not take it well either. He had pontificated on Benjamin’s heathenish mermaid paintings, even though Dane had helped select one. Dane did not understand the full view of nature. Especially bare-breasted nature. And Dane quite liked Melina as well, so he would be protective of her sister and assume the worst.

  With both brothers angry it would make it more of an adventure. But still, he didn’t want to hurt Thessa. He’d have to side with Dane and War in this instance, which was annoying to realise.

  He wasn’t their infant brother any more. He had a family now—his crew. His decisions had to be made with an eye to the future and with logic, not lust. It was one thing to bed a woman who made it her business. He could pretend it hadn’t happened if he didn’t even remember what she looked like.

  But with Thessa, there could be no such pretensions and he wouldn’t want there to be. He would want to remember every touch of her skin for the rest of his life.

  Yet how much harder would it be to leave her if he could still feel the warmth of her skin on his fingertips?

  A man could be on shore, swim a long way into the ocean and still turn back safely. But at a certain point, if he hadn’t turned back, he wouldn’t have enough strength to make it to shore. He’d have weakened himself too much. And it would be too late. He could not spend so much time with her that
he could not turn back.

  Benjamin wondered if he was getting some fever from the island. Some mind-numbing thing taking him over, only his mind hadn’t faltered. It was banging along, ahead of his ship, thinking of Thessa. Causing his senses to erode.

  He wanted to press his face against her belly. Just to lie against her, holding her, feeling her breathing with his cheek against her abdomen and pressing his lips along every part of her.

  Chains. He needed a different kind of leg shackle. He needed one to chain himself to his cabin, or to the end of the ship away from Thessa. He could not let himself see her, hear her voice or get near her in any way. And he definitely could not touch her.

  No female had ever before trussed his thoughts into such a tangle. He had to stop thinking of her.

  Gidley walked in. ‘That one been walking about the deck so many times my eyes are tired.’

  ‘Stop watching.’

  ‘Yer right. I did. Right after she went inside. I was just thinkin’ of the ship. No chance of us not havin’ a storm on this trip.’ Gidley spoke barely above a whisper. ‘Last time we had one woman aboard and the heavy seas nearly kilt you. This time, two women.’ He made a snapping noise with his tongue. ‘Yer neck be on its last leg.’

  ‘Stubble it.’ The words brooked no dissention.

  As usual, Gid kept talking since they were apart from the men. He kept his voice low. ‘Yer feel the same way. It’s writ all over your face. I can’t read much more’n my name, but I can see it. Yer best take your mind from the woman. We’ve worst skies ahead. They’s creepin’ up behind, to catch us unaware.’

  ‘Gid.’

  Gidley let out a deep breath and handed Ben the flask he sometimes kept at hand, and filled from the captain’s store.

  ‘And do you suggest I throw one of the women overboard to see if the sea lets up?’ Benjamin asked between swallows. ‘Or maybe I could offer up a first mate as sacrifice.’

  Gid reached out and took the flask from him. ‘No doubtin’ yer’d throw me ’fore yer’d pitch that dark-eyed one.’ He moved the flask as he spoke.

  ‘Right now I’d heave you over before I’d toss my boots.’

  ‘Them ain’t good boots no more.’

  ‘Precisely. And what do you think?’

  ‘Can’t say, Capt’n.’

  Benjamin snorted.

  ‘Since yer bein’ so persistent.’ He tilted his head to the side, firmed his lips and squinted his eyes. ‘On the one side, we could die in a storm and it’d be a crime not to be enjoyin’ the one afore ye’ go to the depths.’ Then he relaxed his face, and shrugged. ‘On the other side, yer brother’ll find out and, with him ownin’ the Ascalon, yer be marryin’ the wench. And on the other side, yer bed the girl and yer don’t do the job right, I image she’ll sink the whole ship just from spite. That’s what I’m thinkin’.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  Gid raised his chin. ‘I’m thinkin’ the lady be upset ’cause yer not kissin’ her dainty toes, and she prob’ly be right proud of them toes, ’cause she ain’t had ’em long. Yer best think to kiss her toes, Capt’n.’

  He thought of Thessa’s foot in his hand and how his touch could slip over her ankle and up her leg.

  ‘Toes,’ he mused, nodding.

  Gidley gave a pleased growl mixed with assent. ‘’Specially that little high inside part of the foot just ’neath the ankle. That be the cleanest part.’

  Benjamin let out a breath.

  Gid continued. ‘I know my woman’s body parts. Has ’em ranked. One through twelve. For a woman I ain’t seeing ever after, I might go straight to twelve. But if she’s special, I start with one, and if you count “One Ebechenezer, two Ebechenezer, three Ebechenezer,” then yer need to get to the count of five on the first one, and then yer move up to ten on the rest and count a little longer each time, until yer can’t count no more and then yer go straight to twelve.’ He sighed, lost in his numbers. ‘Twelve.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Just had to tell yer my secret, Capt’n.’

  Ben looked to the window, seeing the sky, unable to guess if rain was in the offing.

  ‘Gid. Are you trying to be a matchmaker?’

  Gidley’s cap drooped. ‘Capt’n, put yer thinkin’ to work,’ he whined, ‘if she be even one finger part-bewitched and things keep goin’ the way they is—she be sinkin’ us more ’n once. Prob’ly only thing savin’ us now is she don’t want to drown little Stubby. Women don’t like to hurt young folk.’

  Ben glared at Gid. He stood and waved Gid to follow him outside. Ben needed to get back on deck and let the serenity of the water slip into him. ‘You are my first mate, not my mother.’

  Gid didn’t answer, but his lower lip poked out.

  Benjamin took a deep breath and calmed his voice. ‘I am not at all concerned about Thessa’s actions. We have a ship to sail. That is all that matters.’

  Then Gid laughed. ‘I be thinkin’ to ask that one walkin’ around the deck to wed. Just to save the ship.’

  ‘You can’t. You’re already married.’

  ‘But yer the only one what knows it and yer’d get forgetful because I didn’t leave yer danglin’ from that rope twisted yer arm that one time. And I saved yer many times with my seafarin’ wisdom, takin’ yer under my wing when yer weren’t hardly no older’n our Stubby. Besides, my woman’s run off somewhere and I’ve not seen her in a hundr’d years. I figure two wifes who don’t want to live with yer be no different than one who don’t.’

  Benjamin moved to the railing as Gidley recalled his wife’s attributes—the main one being she always gave fair warning before she tried to stab him. The man spoke more to himself, and Benjamin appreciated that. He only listened to the rhythm of the words—his thoughts were floating in a different direction, reliving each moment with Thessa in front of him.

  Gidley stopped talking long enough to stare at the sky and take a deep breath. ‘I don’t understand why this crew’s such a superstitious lot.’

  Benjamin ran his hand through his hair and looked at Gid. ‘I suppose they just don’t have a true understanding of the world.’

  Gid shook his head. ‘Me, I understand. I been all ’round the Cape and places no other livin’ man ever seen. I drunk some mixture given me in a hut and by an old man what said that potion’d protect me from all kinds of evil spirits and so far it’s worked.’ He frowned. ‘I worry that potion be wearin’ thin. Bad luck ahead, Capt’n.’

  Gidley’s voice changed, taking on the edge that he used when times were serious. ‘Them’s dangerous shapes on the horizon, Capt’n,’ Gidley said as they stood on the aft deck, his voice low.

  Ben instantly tensed, staring even harder across the water. Then he realised Gid had his eyes overhead.

  Benjamin couldn’t keep his gaze from darting up. ‘They are not.’ He bit out the words. ‘Those clouds are the kind little children lie in a field and look up at and imagine the shapes are pets and faces and such.’

  Gidley cocked his head up again and looked. ‘Yer right. Yer right.’ He paused, his mouth contorting as he looked overhead. ‘But that’s a bad omen.’

  ‘Bad omen?’ Benjamin forced his words calm. It would not do for him to become angry at Gidley.

  Gidley nodded, watching the clouds the same way a new reader studied words. ‘See that fish’s tail in that one.’ He pointed up, his fingernail dirty. ‘Yer other one there—an evil eye. Then the next one—’

  ‘Gidley,’ Benjamin interrupted. ‘Not another word about bad luck. That’s an order. And remember, the most unlucky thing that can happen on a ship is for the first mate to ignore the captain’s orders. It causes ropes to fray, crews to anger and waves to roil, and first mates to be promoted to cook.’

  ‘Yer don’t have to get all lordy. I’m just tellin’ yer what I see.’

  ‘As am I.’ He looked to the sky. ‘See that little cloud right there. The one with the butterfly wings. It told me.’

  ‘Capt’n. Since them women got on board y
er lost all yer good humour.’

  ‘It’s right up there with that cloud with the wings. And I remember a man once telling me to keep my eyes on the sea and the ship, and to not let my mind wander.’

  ‘Sounds like somethin’ a real wise man would say.’

  Ben nodded and gave Gid a thump on the back. Gid grunted acknowledgement. Ben walked away.

  The thing that irritated Ben the most about Gidley’s superstitions was that more than not, the man would be right. Gid had had a lifetime of sailing and whenever he felt an unease, he pulled out a reason for it. The reason might be daft, but the unease was not.

  Every sense Ben could summon from his body, he kept on alert. Wind ruffled his hair and let him feel the speed of the ship. He didn’t wear a hat when the sun wasn’t blindingly bright, because he could tell the force of the wind by the touch of it on his face and the way it ran through his locks. He kept his hair clean and long enough to use, but not enough to obstruct his vision.

  The captain who’d first made Benjamin a quartermaster had done the same. Told him the captain’s body was another kind of compass and had to be kept in working order like any other tool. Said a captain’s skin needed to be able to feel the air and his nose to scent the air. And if a quartermaster or first mate had two instruments telling them different directions, they’d not believe the one with the bit of grime on it. They’d believe the one looking shiny new and cared for. And a captain was the ship’s main compass

  Benjamin hadn’t thought it possible to keep clean on a long voyage with the salt spray drying clothes into stiff shells, and little water, but he’d discovered he could easily.

  Now he turned to the helm, staring into the wake they left behind. Watching and waiting, as he had been for days. He’d not been obvious enough for his crew to notice, although he wasn’t certain he’d not caused Gid’s unease to flourish. If something was out there, he wanted to be the first to see it.

  Even the ship herself seemed to be sailing more quietly. The seamen were not to converse overmuch while they were on deck. Silence meant orders would be heard and a man couldn’t risk inattention or disagreements while on watch.