"I don't believe it." Her mother pushed her hair back from her face with trembling fingers. "You helped rescue the captain... there's going to be another fight. I wish now we had just stayed in Rose Hill and let the damn cotton rot! We may all die now!"
Julie stared at her in wonder. She had never heard her mother curse before.
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Marshal said quickly. "It's just that this trip has become such an ordeal. I wish we could turn around and go home. Virgil would understand."
"Ma'am, don't you fret," Lyman spoke up confidently, and they all turned to look at him. "The captain is a smart man, and brave, too. He'll save us and the ship. You'll see. All we gotta do is sit tight. I'm going to block the door, shove the desk in front of it, and I'll do my best to keep all of you safe."
"I wonder how long well have to wait," her mother murmured as they watched Lyman position the desk. "I suppose I should have dressed—"
"It's all right." Julie forced a tight smile, wondering how it could matter what they were wearing. Despite Lyman's faith in Derek, in reality they could all be dead by morning. There were many Yankees, but only a few of Derek's followers. He'd lost many to Harky.
Her mother perched on the edge of the bed and began to rock to and fro, hands locked about her knees. "We'll think of pleasant things, not about what is happening above us.We'll think of how soon well be in Bermuda, then on a nice ship bound for England. And when we get there, Virgil will be waiting, and you'll have a beautiful wedding. Then the war will end, and well all come back to Rose Hill, and Myles will come home too, and..."
On and on she went, and Julie fought the impulse to scream. If it made her mother feel better to ramble that way, then so be it, but she would have preferred to just sit in silence and pray for safe delivery from their present peril.
"Did you hear me, dear?"
Julie's head snapped up. She'd been lost in thought, thinking about Derek, about the way her body betrayed her whenever he was near.
"No, Mother. What did you say?"
"I know you're going to be happy as Virgil's wife, even though you might not think so."
"I suppose," Julie commented absently, not wanting to discuss it. Once the decision had been made, she'd found she did not want to talk about it. It was going to happen, and that was the way it was. There was no need to dwell upon it.
"Are you sure you aren't marrying him solely because you know he can save Rose Hill and make it possible for Myles to come home?" her mother persisted.
Without realizing it, Julie looked Mammy Sara in the eye, and saw how she was staring at her in question. This she found surprising, and it was with a feeling of guilt that she lied to her mother when she answered, "I—I think I'll be happy with Virgil. We can have a good marriage."
"But do you love him?"
Again Julie locked eyes with Mammy Sara, who pursed her lips and frowned.
"I suppose." The words almost choked her.
It was a lie. She knew it and so did Mammy Sara.
Time dragged by slowly. Lyman extinguished the lantern, saying he was sure that the captain would want the ship in total darkness. So they waited, with only the sound of their harsh, anxious breathing to break the tense silence in the inky blackness that surrounded them.
The cracking sound of a shot split the stillness, then another followed. Julie's mother screamed, covering her ears as Lyman hissed for her to be quiet. Julie crouched down beneath the porthole, covering her own ears against the sudden rain of gunfire all about them. Men were shouting, cursing, feet pounding on the deck above as they ran. The ship quivered and shook.
Julie felt a movement. Something hard and cold was being pressed into her hand.
"If I'm killed, use this." Lyman's voice cracked as he handed her the knife. "Defend yourself as best you can. God be with you."
He was afraid. For all his brave talk about duty and dying, if need be, in following his captain's orders, the boy was scared, Julie knew. And in between the shouting and screaming and shooting, she could hear her mother crying.
How ironic, she thought, dazed, that at such a time, I am the only one in control. But then she allowed as to how she was probably only in a state of shock, for she could feel her body tremble, knew that deep inside she was terrified... for at any moment, death could come.
And then silence fell.
For a long time, no one spoke, then Lyman said tersely, "We'll know soon. Someone will come down here. Pray it's the captain."
The captain! Julie felt a hot flush surge through her body. That taunting smile on those handsome lips, the way his strong hands could perform magic upon her body—she had never known anyone like him. And she hoped she never encountered such a perplexing personage again. He had a mystifying hold on her; this she could not deny. Her body, her will, combined to betray her in his arms.
Suddenly the sound of hard sure footsteps descending the steps made everyone turn fearful, anxious eyes toward the door. Her mother's fingertips went to her trembling lips as Lyman raised his musket, pointed, aimed, ready in the first rosy hues of dawn that streamed through the porthole.
Julie could only hold her breath, hands clenched tightly together. She could hear Mammy Sara murmuring a barely audible prayer.
"Let me in, Anastor. It's over!"
"Praise God!" Mammy Sara screamed.
Julie let her breath out, swaying slightly as Lyman laid his musket aside to hurriedly shove the desk from the door.
Derek's huge frame seemed to fill the open doorway, and he stood with legs apart, a triumphant grin on his sweaty, grimy face. "We took them," he said quietly, his eyes searching for Julie.
He opened his titan arms, exposing his bare, rock-ribbed chest. So relieved was she that the Yankees had been defeated, Julie forgot everything and everyone and flung herself against him, sobbing with relief as he folded her tightly in his embrace. Instantly she was washed over with waves of emotion, knowing that as long as he held her, she was safe from any harm.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back comfortingly, affectionately, as he attempted to answer Lyman's anxious questions. "We lost a lot of good men," he said reverently, quietly. "We took them by surprise, but they were a large number. If we hadn't had the advantage of catching them off guard, I'm sure the story would have had a different ending."
Pressing his lips against Julie's forehead, he whispered, "Are you sure you aren't disappointed that it wasn't Captain Guthrie at your door?"
"Derek, how dare you..." She jerked away from him, hating herself for losing control, as she always did in his arms. Then she saw it—the angry, bleeding slash across his chest. "My God, you're hurt!" she cried.
"It's not deep. Just a scratch. I'll have Jenkins take a look at it later." He turned to Lyman. "We slipped on board their ship and sabotaged their guns just as Harky's friends did ours. We had most of their men overpowered before an alarm was sounded."
"Captain Arnhardt..."
They all turned to see Julie's mother getting shakily to her feet. "Please spare us the gory details. Now that the battle is over and you've won, what we're interested in hearing is how long it will be before we can be on our way to Bermuda."
"We won't be putting into port at Bermuda," he replied matter-of-factly. "You see, word spreads, even at sea. The Yankees are going to be looking for us, because we are blockade runners. So now we've no choice but to turn back and head for port in Wilmington. I can get through there, and we can dock for awhile till things cool down. Then I'll decide which course the Ariane will take."
It took a moment for his words to register, and then Mrs. Marshal gasped, "Are you mad, sir? You were paid to deliver us and our cargo to Bermuda. We can't turn back. My daughter is to be married, and—"
"That's the way it's going to be," he snapped, rubbing at his wound with the back of his hand, smearing the blood as he winced with pain. "I'm the captain. I make the decisions. We'll sink the Federal ship, set the survivors adrift, then turn and head north at once." He t
old Lyman to go topside, as there was much work to be done.
Derek kissed Julie's cheek and turned to go, but her mother had a conniption. "Will you stop trifling with my daughter? I will ask you to respect her state of betrothment. She belongs to another."
He released her at once, stunned by the woman's outburst.
"I'll pay you anything you ask," she went on in a rush. "Anything! Do you understand? I'll divide the profit from the sale of my cotton. I'll give you anything you want, but you must take us on to Bermuda."
"Are you insane?" He was bewildered. "I'd be captured and hung. The Yankees would consider me a pirate now. I have to go into hiding for awhile. There'll be a price on my head. In Wilmington I'll be safe till I get both my crew and ship ready to sail once again."
"Virgil will be worrying himself sick." Mrs. Marshal turned to Julie. "We have to go on to Bermuda." Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she wrung her hands in despair. Mammy Sara stepped forward and placed a plump arm protectively around her shoulders.
Julie bit her lower lip. She didn't want to go to Wilmington. And she didn't want to return to Rose Hill. Not now, with Savannah blockaded soundly by the Yankees. To continue on to England would mean a reprieve from the ravages of war. She would worry over Myles, but for the moment, she could do nothing to help him, and he would want her safely away from the conflict and strife.
"Take Mrs. Marshal to her cabin," Derek was saying to Sara. "It's been a trying night for all of us. I'll send in some brandy."
"You just don't understand," the woman sobbed as she was led away. "We have to go on...."
When they were alone, Derek turned to Julie, his eyes devouring her. "I think I should save you from yourself," he murmured.
Shaking her head, she replied, "I don't understand what you're talking about."
Roughly he yanked her against him once more, smearing her with his blood but not caring. "You don't love Virgil Oates, and you know it. And I've told you he's an impostor. You're a fool if you think he's got wealth and power. He's marrying you for what he thinks you've got, in addition to your beauty. I damn well can't fault him on that point."
She managed to speak over the tremulous pounding of her heart. "That is no concern of yours. What we had... did... was wrong. We must forget it ever happened."
"We can't, and we won't." His laugh was short, bitter. Then he gave her a gentle shake and commanded, "Tell me the real reason you promised to marry him. You bared your body to me. Now bare your soul."
She could only look at him, helpless.
"You can't tell me you love him."
She was weary from the agony of sleepless nights. Now her brain was trying to whirl, function, but she felt only exhaustion. "Please, I don't feel like discussing this. I just want to go on with my life."
He went on as though she had not spoken. "I know you don't love him, and I know why you're marrying him. You're trying to make up to your mother for the way your father betrayed her with his sister-in-law. You told me all about it in your feverish ramblings, Julie. But you must understand that it's not your place to do this."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she gasped.
He nodded grimly. "Oh, yes, I do. You've got this fierce, insane devotion to your mother because you feel guilty carrying the secret about your father's adultery. You're feeling the shame that was buried with him. That's crazy. It isn't your place to make anything up to your mother.
"And," he went on, eyes blazing like the morning sun streaming through the round window, "you've got this equally insane loyalty to your brother, and you don't realize that it's based on guilt. In this case, your own. You blame yourself for his being forced to run away. You were the one attacked by those men, and he was avenging your honor."
She tried to protest, but he would not allow her time to speak as he continued his tirade. "I'll tell you something else, too. You think that marriage to Virgil Oates will insure a trade relationship with buyers in Europe. You think all your problems will be solved. But you're wrong. They're just beginning. He can't work miracles."
"I'm not going to stand here and listen to this." She tried to pull away, but he continued to hold her tightly.
"You are going to listen, dammit. It's time you faced reality. You're throwing your life away for your mother, your brother, and your goddamn precious land." Then he flung her away from him, and she fell upon the bed.
"What's the use?" he yelled. "Why should I concern myself with you, anyway? Go on and marry the bastard, if that's what you want. Make a martyr of yourself if that's the only way you can be happy."
Julie was seething. "Then why don't you just shut up and leave me alone? You got what you wanted from me. I 'performed' for you satisfactorily. Now get out of my life and let me live it as I choose."
He opened and closed his fists, teeth grinding together as he stared down at her. "So be it, pretty lady."
He rubbed at his wound again. He knew it needed binding, for blood continued to ooze from the torn flesh. He had been slashed by a knife wielded by a dying man who lacked the strength, thank God, to plunge the blade deeper, or Derek might have fallen to eternal sleep alongside him.
He turned to leave, then stopped to give Julie one final glare. "And by the way," he said evenly, "you didn't 'perform,' as you call it, all that well. And who ever said I got exactly what I wanted from you? You were a woman, and I felt a need. Nothing more."
He walked out and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 8
The day passed slowly. While she yearned for a breath of fresh air, Julie decided not to go up on deck. She could hear sounds of much activity there, and even though her curiosity was roused, she knew the scene would be unpleasant after what had taken place during the night.
It was Lyman who brought her food. A bowl of gruel and a cup of tea was the only offering at mid-morning. Then, as the sun began to die, he returned with another tray. Julie wrinkled her nose at the sight of the boiled fish stew.
"I'm sorry," he said matter-of-factly. "There's just been so much to do today that no one's had time to see to the kitchen. The cook was put to work with a mop and pail, and all he had time to do was get this pot of stew together."
Earlier, when he had brought the gruel, Lyman had left so quickly that Julie didn't have time to question him about what was going on above. This time, before he could take his leave, she quickly positioned herself in front of the door and said, "It doesn't matter about the food. I'm not hungry. But you aren't leaving this room till you tell me what's happening."
"Happening?" He blinked with contrived confusion, then added nervously, "Oh, you mean topside."
"Yes, I mean topside. I want to know everything that is going on up there."
"We've had a lot of scrubbing to do. Blood, you know."
He made a face. "And the captain is busy repairing our guns."
"Has he set the Yankees adrift? Did he sink their ship?"
Shaking his head, he shrugged and murmured, "I can't say no more, ma'am. Captain, he wouldn't like it. Now I really can't stay no longer. It'll be dark soon, and there's still a lot of work..."
He took a step sideways, but Julie moved also, blocking his path. She placed the tip of one finger on his chest as her eyes burned into his insistently. "You must tell me everything, Lyman. I've a right to know what my destiny is to be. Is the captain turning us about to head for Wilmington?"
He swallowed hard, glancing about uneasily as he said, "Miss Julie, I'm just about the lowest rank of crewman there is. I'm only sixteen, and the captain, he was good enough to take me on, even though I got into some trouble with the law back in Savannah. He made it perfectly clear I wasn't gonna be no more'n a swabby till I learned about the seafaring life. So how would I know of his plans as to the course of his ship? He don't tell me nothing."
"But," he paused to grin slowly, "after I proved my loyalty last night, I bet he's gonna see me in a different light. He sees how I took a stand for him when so many of the older
and more experienced crewmen were afraid."
Julie sighed, exasperated. "Lyman, I'm sure you know whether we're going to Bermuda or turning around to go north. I'm also sure you're aware of whether or not the Yankee ship has been sunk and the crew set adrift. So why won't you tell me this much? I've a right to know. I am a paying passenger on this ship."
He looked down at his bare feet, and she followed his gaze to see they were pink-tinged—probably, she surmised, from mopping the bloody deck.
"Did Captain Arnhardt instruct you not to answer any of my questions?"
Without raising his head, he nodded.
"All right. I suppose I'll just stay here and worry myself sick over what my fate is to be." Turning her back on him, she pressed her face against the rough wood of the door, pretending to shudder with sobs.
The effect was as she expected. Lyman shuffled his feet uncomfortably, took a few nervous breaths, then whispered, "Please don't cry. I can't stand to see a woman cry. I'll tell you what I do know, which ain't much."
And he told her that the Federal ship was still afloat, with the crew being held prisoner. "That's all I know. Honest. I don't know which way we're going to sail from here."
She pretended to dab at her eyes with the hem of her dress. Giving him a grateful smile, she thanked him.
He left after asking her to promise she would not tell anyone he had revealed even that much information. Disappointed that she had learned nothing really important, Julie assured him she wouldn't.
Her eyes stung with weariness. Despite the anxiety she felt about all that had taken place, she was eager to succumb to much-needed sleep. Taking off her dress to put on a gown, she was about to snuggle beneath the covers when there was a sharp, insistent rap upon her door.
With pounding heart, she opened it. When she saw her mother standing there, she had to admit to herself that it was actually Derek she had been hoping to see.
Trying to hide her disappointment, she hugged her mother and told her to come in. "What have you been doing with yourself all day?"
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