“No, wait.” She grasped his hand and pulled him back down. “Thank you for protecting me. Without you, I don’t know what I would do.” Leaning forward, she settled a quick kiss on his lips. Although the touch was fleeting, her soft mouth, flavored with the slightest hint of rum, tantalized his senses. His body’s response was immediate and strong. He ached to hold her close and more thoroughly taste her lips. Through sheer will, he ignored the compulsion and moved to his uncomfortable bed in front of the door.
He blew out the lantern and struggled to sleep, his body and mind focused on the woman so close by, the feel of her slight kiss haunting him all night long.
Chapter Four
Amelia’s head throbbed, although the ache was better than it had been when she first awoke. She followed David to the dining area on the ship. Like the prior day, the sails hung motionless and the deck was empty, save for a few sleeping crewmen.
When they reached the mess, it too was empty, although the time was almost noon.
“Strange,” David said. “Even after their worst drunken nights, most still show up for a meal.” He waved her ahead. “We’ll head to the galley.”
They traveled the short distance in a matter of minutes. An elderly man lay on a cot in the far corner of the small kitchen.
“George?” David approached him. “What goes?”
George wrapped his arms around his middle and groaned. “We’re all sick.”
“All?”
“Aye, nearly all. There were no space for me in the sick room, so I had to come back here.”
“What the devil?” David turned about and headed for the door at a quick pace.
Amelia trailed behind, her stomach plunging. Please, Lord, no.
It didn’t take long to reach the sick room. Cots filled the space from wall to wall, and on each one lay a sailor in obvious distress. All the blood drained from her face.
“There she is,” someone shouted. “The cause of all this.”
She flinched. She knew that voice. Her gaze darted to Mr. Rixon, who occupied a cot like the rest, a greenish cast to his skin.
“Don’t listen to him.” David’s arm came around her back as he moved to where William lay. “How do you fare?” he asked.
“How does it look?” William grumbled. “I’m dyin’.”
Dying? Sweet Mary she hoped not.
David shook his head, a look of skepticism on his face. “I doubt that very much.”
“We’re all dying,” Mr. Rixon moaned, “because of her.”
A few scattered “Ayes” peppered the room, and she resisted the urge to cringe.
David’s head snapped up. “Look here. She had nothing to do with this,” he declared. “It’s more likely your choice of mixing gunpowder with your rum made you sick.”
“Not so,” someone scoffed. “We been drinking our rum with powder for years with no trouble.”
It was true. It had to be. They were all ill because of her. Her pulse stuttered a beat. A hand grasped hers. She looked down at William’s warm green eyes.
“I don’t blame you, lass,” he said.
His confession tightened her chest all the more. He should blame her. She’d apologize here and now, but that would make matters worse. Instead, she squeezed his hand. William had been so kind to her, like David, like Captain Tuttlage. Oh no, Captain Tuttlage.
“If not the drink, then it’s likely something you ate,” David insisted.
“Are the prisoners ill?” she asked Procter. As the only one standing, he was obviously the doctor here, although he too looked a bit ashen.
Procter leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from his brow. “No. They look well enough.”
She released a breath. At least they’d been spared.
“See there,” Mr. Rixon tried to push himself up but lay down with a grunt, “Captain Tuttlage, the one who defended her on Fortune’s Song, isn’t sick. Maybe she’s a witch, ready to smite those who stand in her way.”
A witch. If only she could control the curse that followed her.
“Gibberish,” David called back. “Your illness has gone to your head.”
“What of Frederick?” Mr. Rixon volleyed, pointing to a man asleep on a bed near the far wall, splints on both legs. “How do you explain his fall from the ratlines last night while on watch? Broke his legs.”
Frederick? He’d been the one to give her his wormwood wine.
David scowled. “He, like the rest of you, was drunk. He had no business on the ratlines in that state.”
“Can you explain away the wind?” This question came from another sailor, one she’d danced with last eve. “Still no breeze to fill our sails.”
As the questions mounted, an awful warning niggled. How long before these men decided they’d had enough? And what would they do to her then?
“In this case, you should be thankful the sails are slack or you’d be working whether sick or not.” David grasped her hand and took a step back as more voices joined in to grumble and blame.
“You’d best go,” Procter advised. “Once their stomachs have settled, they’ll be more likely to listen.”
Would they? She sincerely hoped Procter was right.
“Rest well,” David told William before he led her away. Outside the room, he continued toward the galley. “Pay no heed to that drivel.”
“How can I not when it’s likely true?”
He released a long sigh. “You can’t mean that.”
But she did, and it must have shown on her face because he stopped. Taking her by the arms, he stared into her eyes. “I don’t understand how you can possibly accept that you’re the cause of any of this.”
“You’ve known me a couple of days. I’ve experienced events like this my whole life.”
The doubt in his eyes still lingered. How could she explain? Maybe…
“When I was younger, I loved exploring the woods around our home. One day I reached the edge of the forest and came upon several men working in a field.” She remembered it so vividly, the golden color of the wheat under the cloudless sky, the men swinging their scythes. “The sky was a perfect blue, but when I arrived, a lightning bolt struck the worker closest to me, killing him.” She had known then, just as she knew now, that she was the cause. What else could it have been? That day, she’d run from that place as if the very devil were on her trail, and she’d never gone back.
“You may think you’re somehow cursed, but I don’t.” He released her and ushered her ahead. “Regardless, you should keep your suspicions to yourself.”
“I realize that.” She’d rather not be thrown overboard.
“Now let’s get lunch from the galley and return to the cabin. Last night you said you would trim my hair, and I’m going to hold you to it.”
Her appetite was long gone. Whether David believed in her affliction or not didn’t change the fact that it existed, and some day it would catch up with her.
…
David sat in a chair as Amelia snipped away at his overgrown mop of hair. He had to admit, he hadn’t cut it since he’d left London… No. Had it been that long? He couldn’t say. He’d all but given up caring what he looked like.
As she worked, her fingers trembled slightly and her face grew pinched, as if she worried she’d cut off his ear by mistake. The thought that this one small woman could bring misfortune to all around her was beyond absurd. “Does your family believe you’re bad luck?”
Her hands stilled. “No. Not all of them.”
Those words carried with them a weight of sadness he could almost feel. “I don’t understand.”
“My father and stepsister have always insisted it’s superstition,” she explained, “but my stepmother…” She worried her lip, her gaze fixed on his hair.
“Your stepmother told you that you’re bad luck?”
Amelia frowned as she snipped away once more. “That and I have poor judgment.”
“Why do you listen to her?” Her stepmother must be mad.
<
br /> “I can hardly claim otherwise when the evidence is all around me. This curse has plagued me for years.”
He should have guessed that would be her answer. “Is that why no family accompanied you on Fortune’s Song? She convinced your father that traveling with you would be dangerous?”
“Not just her. I helped convince them.” Amelia’s spine straightened. “I vowed that I would go alone…though not completely alone…with my maid.”
“To keep your family safe,” he supplied, turning in his seat to look up at her face.
She inclined her head in agreement. Of all the silly, nonsensical… “What of your maid? Was she not worthy of the same protection?”
Amelia’s features crumpled, and he cursed himself for reminding her of her maid’s fate.
“I tried to dissuade her.” Amelia’s fingers combed through his hair with unnecessary roughness, checking its length. “She persisted, and my father gave his full support.”
And after her maid’s death, she had been alone, with only Captain Tuttlage to protect her. Anything could have happened. “Why now? You’re a grown woman. If, as you said, you’ve carried bad luck your whole life, what changed that you would leave your family?”
She clutched the scissors in a tight grip. “There was an incident… I invited a beggar to stay in our home.”
David looked at her askance. Had he heard her correctly?
“Just for the night,” she quickly amended.
“And?”
“By morning he’d taken what valuables he could carry and disappeared. My stepmother declared that it was time for me to leave. She said my aunt’s settlers’ life would teach me hardship, make me less likely to allow others to take advantage,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “He’d seemed so destitute, in need.”
“Of course he did,” he scoffed. “You’re too trusting, by far. You should question what people want, understand their motives, before you give them such leeway.” Which made him wonder… “What do you honestly think of Rixon and the crew blaming you for their troubles?”
She studied the scissors in her hand for a full minute before she spoke. “If I lived at sea and was always at the mercy of the elements, I’d likely do the same.”
“You’re excusing them?”
Her shoulders rose in a shrug. “We all like to have a reason behind the things that happen to us, to make us feel safer, less defenseless against fate.”
“Ah, Amelia, what will I do with you?” he asked, sitting back in the chair. “You have a good heart… Much better than mine.” At one time, he might have been as forgiving, but those days had long passed.
“I don’t believe that. You’re a good man, David.” She slid her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, more gently this time, and he released a breath, savoring the light caresses. His mother had cut his hair when he’d been young, and his sisters had taken over the job after his mother had passed. He’d almost forgotten how much the simple act of having his hair trimmed reminded him of home and family—some memories good, and some better left forgotten.
“You mentioned going to live with your aunt in Virginia,” he recalled.
“That’s right.”
“Do you know her well?”
“Only through letters.” She measured a lock of hair with her fingers and snipped off the ends. “She’s lived in the colonies for a long time now. To my father’s dismay, she married for love to a man who barely had a pence to his name. Together they traveled to Virginia as indentured servants and, once their debt was paid, took up farming.”
“Sounds like a hard life.”
“I’m sure it was, and still is, but Aunt Rosamond strikes me as a tireless, sensible person who is capable of most anything she puts her mind to.” Amelia came around to his side, taking care with every cut she made. “I started writing her a few years ago after I’d heard her husband had passed… I thought perhaps she was lonely.”
Like Amelia? She hadn’t said so, but he sensed her melancholy nevertheless. “Was she?” he asked.
“I could hardly tell. It seems she doesn’t have the time to think about such things.”
David glanced over at Amelia. Such a tiny frame for farm work. “Do you look forward to living with this aunt?”
She fixed a smile on her face, an unconvincing smile if he’d ever seen one. “Of course I do,” she said. “It’s an adventure. I’ll see the colonies for myself…well, Virginia…and I’ll begin anew where no one but my aunt knows me.” Her cheerful mien faltered, her smile slipping away. “Even knowing what trouble I can be, she urged me to come live with her. I hope I don’t make Aunt Rosamond’s life harder than it already is.”
“I doubt you could.” He’d heard what life was like in the colonies, all of the small farms struggling to get by.
Virginia. He couldn’t imagine Amelia carrying buckets of water, working the land… Wait,Virginia? “If you were traveling to your aunt in Virginia, why were you on a ship near the West Indies?”
Amelia moved to his other side, the weight of his hair growing lighter with each snip. “Captain Tuttlage and my father are friends. They made the arrangement to have me accompany the captain with the understanding that his shipping route would remain largely the same.”
“How far did this route extend?”
“We traveled to Madagascar first before heading this way.”
David grimaced. Just the mention of the place put a foul taste in his mouth. All the months he’d spent there as a slave. The humiliation and fury he had tried to forget threatened to rise up like a blister from the raging sun.
“Is something wrong? Oh.” She winced and looked down at her hand, a drop of blood forming on the tip of one finger. Irritation marred her features before she raised the offending finger and put it between her lips.
“Let me see.” All thoughts of his miserable past faded as he drew the finger from her mouth. A thin cut lined its tip, the blood flow already slowing. The injury would heal quickly without much tending. Still, he wished he could comfort her in some way, not only for the cut, but for the loneliness and despair he’d glimpsed when she spoke of her family, her future. But how? At one time, he’d have easily told a joke or playfully soothed her in some way. Now anything that came to mind seemed awkward and useless.
He contemplated her injury so long, a blush rose to her cheeks, and she pulled her hand away. “I think if a shave is in order, you should do it yourself.”
Probably wise advice. While he still didn’t accept her theory of bad luck, she certainly suffered more than her share of minor mishaps. He couldn’t fathom how someone could be so graceful one moment and maladroit the next. Still, if Amelia could keep him from wallowing in his own miserable past and bring him one whit closer to the man he’d once been, he’d be forever grateful.
…
The next morning, Amelia followed David into the dining area, praying she’d see all the sailors bent to a hearty breakfast. While the room wasn’t barren as it had been the prior day, it had plenty of room to spare. The cook slopped rations of oatmeal into bowls and handed one to her and one to David. Taking her bowl, she scanned the room, noting the suspicious looks cast her way and spotted Mr. Rixon along with the rest. She approached one of two long tables and sat across from William, the one soul who greeted her with a smile.
“Good mornin’, lovely,” he said, as if he hadn’t a care that the attention of the room had shifted their way.
David sank onto the bench next to her. “Where are the rest?” he asked William.
William took a bite of his breakfast. “Some are still sick, some asleep. No need for work today.”
She’d noticed. Once again not the slightest breeze ruffled the sails. Although William seemed to think nothing of it, those on the far side of the table near the door eyed her as if she were the very devil himself. No longer hungry, she stirred the watery oats with her spoon.
“A hair trim.” William shook his head as he eyed David’s newly shor
n mane. “You sure like to make trouble for yourself, don’t you?”
David cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard?” William chuckled. “It’s bad luck to trim your hair or nails at sea. It makes Neptune angry, it does.”
The look David fixed on William should have set his orange locks to flame. “Hadn’t heard that one, and I rightly don’t care. Although I do seem to remember one about redheads.”
“Do tell me,” William begged, a smile playing about his mouth.
David leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. “I’ve heard they should be avoided before boarding a ship, and if that can’t be helped, speak to them before they can speak to you.”
William laughed. “Ah, now I see why I can never get a word in on dry land.”
From the corner of her eye, Amelia watched the men sitting nearest the door while she pretended to sample her breakfast. Rixon nudged the crewman next to him, a man missing one finger on his right hand. He spoke up. “Rixon has the right of it. If something isn’t done about the woman, we’ll be stranded here until our food and water run out.”
“The winds have been calm before for far longer,” David argued. “Have some patience.”
“It’s not just the wind,” another chimed in. “What of Frederick’s legs, of the sickness we all fell prey to?”
“All?” said still another. “Not all of us grew sick.”
David hadn’t, and neither had she. All eyes shifted to where they sat, and a prickle of unease raced over her skin. She thought to defend herself—she had no control over who was affected by her affliction—but that would only confirm their suspicions that she was the cause.
“Here now.” An old fellow rose from the bench toward the middle of the table, the same one who’d requested a kiss for luck. “The lass has done nothing to you. If anything, she’s lucky to have avoided the illness herself. Who’s to say she’s not the reason no one’s died from it yet? Leave her be.”
If it wasn’t untoward, she’d kiss that old fellow now. What a kind soul.
Unfortunately, not all felt as she did.
“Sit down, you old fool,” the one missing a finger called out.
Beauty's Curse Page 4
