by Hilly Mason
The packet ship set sail at ten that morning. Before departure, Isla quickly ran up to the main deck to watch the London harbor drift away into the horizon. As the surrounding areas strolled by her, so too did the memories she had made throughout the years in the gray city.
Of course, she thought about Patrick. He had no family, so after he died it was Isla who made the arrangements to bury him at Ramsbury, where they had first met—her as a student, and him as a stableboy. She reached a hand towards her neck for the necklace that wasn’t there, and swallowed a lump in her throat. That necklace was the only thing she had that reminded her of him.
Isla could feel Jack watching her in silence, a shadow to match the gloomy weather. For some reason she suddenly felt angry at him. Yet, instead of yelling at him, she closed her eyes and didn’t even try to stifle her tears. She felt so alone, yet he was just standing there, not doing a damn thing. But what did she want him to do, hold her and tell her it was all right? That was ridiculous!
She made sure that he couldn’t see her face as she let her tears fall. Would the ache of loss ever go away? It gnawed at her soul like a dull knife. But she would be damned if she let anybody know how badly she hurt.
They took their morning meal outside, served to them by the ship’s cook, Roger, a man that Jack already seemed to know from his journey to England. As she ate, the ship glided passed the white cliffs of Dover, where she shielded her eyes against the glare of the cliffs to see the birds fly far above her. She heard a strained sound behind her, and had just turned around to see Jack run towards the edge of the ship and lose his breakfast.
“Seasickness, aye?” she asked mildly as he leaned up and wiped his mouth. “Ye must really want to see me safely across the ocean to put yourself through six weeks of hell.”
As he looked up at her, Isla never knew a human could turn that shade of green. “It’s peculiar; I’ve never had seasickness before until I boarded this ship. It’s the same ship I took to England.”
“Same crew?”
Jack nodded.
Isla furrowed her brows. “Do ye ken of any other men becoming ill on this ship?”
“Yes, a few of the seamen had gotten ill on the way over here, too.”
Isla stood up and smoothed her skirts with her hands. “I think I’m going to have a chat with the cook.”
“You think Roger’s making us sick?” Jack asked skeptically.
“It doesn’t hurt to find out.”
Being the only woman on board the ship, the men were already wary of her as she walked down the length of the vessel, with the enigmatic figure of Jack following behind her. She had the urge to shorn her hair to her ears and dress once again in trouser if it made the men not act like she was a person from a completely different world.
She stopped at the door to the kitchens and turned around to face Jack. “Ye don’t have to follow me in,” she told the man, who was still looking rather peaked. “Sit down outside if ye feel so ill.”
“That’s probably a wise idea,” Jack relented. He sat down gruffly on the floorboards. “Yell if you need me.”
Isla raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”
The kitchen was stuffy and smelled of stale porridge. The cook was hovering over the massive iron soup pot, swirling it idly with a large ladle. Isla wrinkled her nose as she peered over the man’s shoulder. The gruel was colorless, which said much about the actual flavor.
Roger was humming to himself, completely oblivious to the intruder. Isla took that opportunity to nose around the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she spotted an opened bag of oats, some of the contents spilling on the ground. Carefully, she peeked into the bag and jumped as she realized the oats were covered in maggots. Isla brought her hand to her mouth to prevent herself from losing her own breakfast. She turned her head hastily away from the soiled oats and opened a set of cupboards above the spoiled food. Lined on the shelves were fresh vegetables, herbs, and dried meats. Was this cook was using all of these provisions for himself?
“What are ye doing here?” A harried voice said from behind her. “Women are not allowed to be in here.”
Isla turned to face the cook, a rotund man with a balding scalp a jowls like a bulldog. He was holding the ladle like he was ready to swat her with it. It reminded her of the housemaid Lisabeth, who used to chase her around the house for stealing biscuits.
“Passenger cabins are just down the hall,” Roger said irritably as he went back to stirring the gruel.
“Your food is spoiled,” she said firmly. “You’re making people sick.”
“Ye have no business here,” the cook said, turning his back to her.
Isla summoned her best impression of Lady Sophia St. George and stood up a little bit straighter. Already, she was towering above the small man. “I do, actually. I paid good money to be sent safely to America. If this ship were to arrive to America with nobody but you alive then questions will be raised. My parents are highly influential people in Philadelphia and wouldn’t be opposed to arresting you for poisoning the passengers on this ship. So, you have two choices: either you continue poisoning us, or you can be a decent person and use the fresh food you’ve been provided and feed us properly.”
The cook paled. A sheen of sweat glistened on his face as his lips trembled. “A-all right, all right. I will get rid of the spoiled food. Just… don’t tell anybody about this, all right?”
“Of course.” Isla turned to go and then stopped. “There’s just one thing,” she said. “I want ye to tell me how to get into the cargo hold.”
“Ye don’t need to worry about getting sick any longer,” Isla told Jack as she stepped out of the kitchens. “He was preparing food out of spoiled provisions and saving the good stuff for himself. But I frightened him enough that he won’t be dreaming about doing that ever again.”
“I see,” Jack muttered. He looked a little bit less green, but not all of the color had come back to his face. “Thank you.”
Roger was true to his promise. The meal that evening consisted of the ham that Isla had discovered in the cupboards, and the vegetables served with them were fresh and crisp. Jack did not get sick afterwards, to his great and utter relief.
The sun was setting, and most of the people on the ship had retired to their respective rooms. Isla knew it would have to come sometime soon, but she wasn’t looking forward to being in such close proximity to Jack. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good man. He seemed honorable, if a little dense in the head. For some reason, whenever he was near to her, she felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t the discomfort of a man who was trying to take advantage of her. No, it actually felt nice when he was near. Her body shivered delightfully when he looked at her, as though his gaze alone was touching her skin, making it feel warm and toasty. No man had ever made her feel away. No, not even Patrick.
And of course, all of that was reason to be uncomfortable.
They entered their cabin and stared at the room, both lost in their own thoughts. The room itself was not very large, and Isla decided that as they were going to live so close for the next three months, that she should get over her modesty. The dress that she chose to wear in haste was her least favorite garment. It was made of wool and incredibly itchy. She popped the buttons on the back without asking for help and wiggled it off over her head.
Jack hastily turned around.
“Ye did see me in my chemise earlier this morning,” she reminded him.
She smiled to herself as she pulled the chemise over her head before grabbing her night shift out of her rucksack. She always liked the way she looked. Her breasts were firm and round, her belly smooth and rippled with muscles from frequently exercising. She slipped the night shift on.
“All right, I’m finished.”
Jack turned and stared at her for a moment before visibly swallowing. “Your turn to turn around,” he told her.
“Fine.” She turned and looked down, only then realizing why he had been staring. She had lost a bit
of weight since Patrick’s death, so the night shift was loose around her shoulders. The material was also very thin, leaving not much to the imagination. Her cheeks flared and she bit her lip, struggling to make sense of the searing heat that coursed through the pit of her belly.
She complied with his wishes to advert her gaze as she sat down on her bed, but after a couple of seconds she turned her head to look at him. Jack’s back was turned to her as he took off his shirt to change into his nightclothes. She stared at him thoughtfully as his muscles rippled when he pulled his shirt over his head. The man was large, but there wasn’t one ounce of fat on his body. He was strong as an ox, yet she had seen the look of gentleness in his eyes that hinted at something more than just simply brawn.
Jack stood up and unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down his legs. Isla’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of his tight, muscular arse, which tapered into strongly sculpted legs. Her body began to tingle in a strange way that she soon realized was lust. Her hands came to her breasts, where she gently stroked the hardening nipples that poked through her night shift.
She realized then that he was looking at her over his shoulder. His eyes were calculating, but they did not seem angry that she was looking at him. He turned back around and slipped on his night shirt, which covered the necessary bits of his body.
Isla finally turned away as she dropped her hands to her lap. She was surprised that she didn’t feel embarrassed by her actions, or ashamed. She only wanted to see more. However, she did feel a bit guilty. Patrick was supposed to be her true love, and here she was blatantly staring at another man and pleasuring herself!
But she was not in love with Jack, she had only been admiring his body. Those were two completely different things, weren’t they?
Jack said nothing as he rearranged his makeshift bed on the ground. He then got under the blankets and fluffed the bundle of clothes he used as a pillow. “Goodnight, Miss Isla,” he said.
“Goodnight, Jack,” she replied, and rolled over on her side. She curled her knees towards her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, trying in vain to banish the image of his backside from her mind.
Chapter Six
It took Isla a few days to find the opportunity to explore the cargo hold.
She was certain she would be noticed if she tried to go in there during the daytime, either by the sailors, or by Jack, so she decided to go during the dead of the night, when she assumed everyone would be asleep.
She and Jack had their routine each evening. They changed their clothing while facing away from each other (she wasn’t able to peek at him again ever since the first night), said goodnight to one another, and then went to sleep. Isla couldn’t help but notice that ever since the first night, Jack seemed more distant than ever, as though he couldn’t even stand to look at her.
That night, after they were both settled into their beds, Isla waited until Jack’s breath grew slow and steady before sitting up and swinging her legs to the ground. She lit her tallow candle and slipped on her boots and her coat before stepping outside.
The first thing Isla noticed once she was out on the main deck were the stars. She gazed up at them in open-mouthed wonder. Countless stars glittered down at her like diamonds found in a dark mine. It was stunningly beautiful, yet she was unnerved by how small and insignificant she felt under the expansive dark sky.
She then closed her eyes and listened the sound of the ocean. It was calm tonight, the waves rocking the ship only slightly, like a mother rocking her child to sleep. No other noise disturbed the quiet of the night save for the gentle creaking of the wooden structure.
After quietly walking to the other side of the ship, Isla then went down a small set of stairs past the servants’ quarters, and deeper still to where the door to the cargo room was locked. She fished out the skeleton key that the cook had given her in exchange for her discretion and fitted it into the lock.
It opened easily. Isla cringed as the door squeaked loudly on its hinges, and then she quickly slipped in. She held the candle out in front of her to see better, but could only make out stacks of wooden shipping boxes.
She then heard noises towards the back of the hold: a huffing of a creature’s breath, and the stirring of feet. She walked slowly towards the source of the sound until she reached a cage of thick iron bars. Isla lowered her candle to the ground and wrapped her hands around the cold bars.
“Golden?” she asked softly.
She heard more stirring, and then footsteps as Golden approached.
“Och, look how they’re treating ye,” she said softly as Golden came into view. She held out her hand and the cat nudged her affectionately. “This cage is much too small for ye, isn’t it?” She lowered her head so that she was pressing her forehead against Golden’s. The cat’s breath was hot against her skin and the creature whimpered slightly.
“You’re good with animals, aren’t ye?”
She turned quickly at the sound of the voice and almost tripped over her forgotten candle as a lanky man holding an oil lantern walked towards her. She recognized him as one of the sailors, having seen him on deck a few times when she needed to get some fresh air. Like most people on the ship, his hair was greasy and his face dingy like he hadn’t had a proper washing in months. If there was one thing that Isla enjoyed about being in the company of aristocrats, it was that she could easily get a bath complete with lavender soap and soft towels whenever she pleased. Although she only had a small basin to wash herself with, she did bring some of her best-smelling soaps.
Isla eyed the cutlass hanging from the man’s narrow hips and licked her lips nervously. “So people tell me,” she said, turning her head back to the beast. The lion was watching the man with wary eyes.
“I’ve heard that people with fairy blood have a kinship to animals.”
She really wanted the man to leave, but it was a small ship and she didn’t want to create any conflict when the whole lot of them were stuck with each other for a few more weeks. She decided the best course of action was to stay friendly with the stranger.
“Aye, that’s true. You’re from Scotland, then? What part?” she asked.
“Aberdeen. How ‘bout ye?”
“Near Inverness. Her heart tugged as she thought about the seaside village of Ciarach. She wondered how Brodie, Diana, and Lisabeth were doing. She hoped that she would be able to see them again someday.
A feeling of doubt washed over her. What if gong to America was the wrong thing to do? She already had family, didn’t she? Why then was she running away?
“Somethin’ the matter?”
“Oh, just a wee bit homesick for Scotland,” she admitted.
“Aye, I understand. Nothing can compare to the Highlands.”
The conversation seemed innocent and amiable enough, but when the man took a step closer to her, the hair on her arms stood on end. Isla wanted to take a step back but held her ground.
“Red hair and blue eyes… such a fascinating combination. My name is Mark, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Isla.”
“Isla, as in Isla the Bold?”
She gave him a brief nod. “The one and only.”
Mark whistled softly. “I heard others sayin’ ye were on this ship, but I didna believe them ‘til now. What are ye doing goin’ all the way to America?”
“I have family there.”
“Wait, you’re married to that brute? What’s his name? Craig?”
“Aye, we’re married.”
“And here I thought Isla the Bold was a spinster.”
Golden began to growl.
“Golden, calm down,” she told the beast. Golden stopped growly and turned away reluctantly, although she kept one eye on the man while she groomed her paw.
“All right, all right. I won’t press it further. But just so ye ken, you’re not foolin’ nobody.” Mark looked from the lion to Isla. “I heard from the other sailor’s that ye have fairy blood. And seeing those uncanny blue eye
s, I’m starting to believe ye really do.”
Isla’s temper was beginning to flare, perhaps in part to Golden’s own agitation. “Oh, aye? Now that you have assessed me like a brood mare, is there anything else I can help you with?” Isla snapped.
He didn’t seem upset by the retort. “I heard ye walkin’ around the ship and followed you to make sure ye didna need my assistance. Now that I ken who ye are, I doubt you’ll be needin’ any.”
“I was taking a walk,” Isla lied, “and noticed the door to the cargo room was opened.”
“How careless of the crewmen,” the man observed, although she could tell by his voice that he didn’t believe her. He then shrugged. “Since you’re a pugilist and all... would ye want to set up a fight with some of the other sailors? There will be prize money.”
Isla’s fingers twitched. It was difficult for her to say no to a fight. And it was a good break from the tedium. “How much are we talking about?” she asked warily.
“One hundred pounds for the winner? Ye’ll need to throw in about fifteen pounds, though.”
“Deal,” she said immediately. After all, this was how she made money, and one hundred pound was indeed a good prize.
“How about tomorrow night, then? Near the hull?”
“Aye.” Discretely, Isla sized the man up. He was roughly her size and height, but she suspected she had more muscle than the man. Not that it was any indication about his fighting prowess; she had knocked out men with biceps the size of her thigh on more than one occasion.
“Verra well.” He held out his hand to her. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”
She stared at his hand, a sharp eyebrow raising high on her forehead. Did he really expect for her to take his hand like they were courting?
Rather than try to make a scene, Isla accepted his offer. She gritted her teeth and nodded her head. But she would not take his hand. “Aye, lead the way.”
