Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1)

by Chloe Flowers

  “There, you see?” He clapped Keelan on the back. “You’re a quick learner. We’d gladly welcome you as a ship’s hand aboard the Desire.”

  “Thank you…Captain,” Keelan said. The corners of her mouth lifted a little.

  “You’d best get along now, and tell Slaney to inform the Commodore and Mr. Grey the men from the Desire have arrived and will be at the house shortly.” Daniel grasped the lad’s elbow and steered him in the direction of the house.

  Keelan gave a curt nod and scuffed away. Daniel bent to retrieve the boy’s fallen sword, walked to the tree and wrenched the captain’s weapon from the trunk.

  Landon’s bemused gaze followed the lad’s awkward gait to the edge of the meadow, where the youth halted and turned to face them. Slowly and deliberately, he reached his hand up to his head and gave the men a jaunty salute. Before Landon could raise a hand to respond, the boy pulled the long blue scarf from his head.

  Landon froze.

  Conal’s jaw dropped.

  Long auburn hair cascaded over the waif’s shoulders and down to her elbows. Not a boy, but a young woman.

  She flashed a triumphant smile, obviously satisfied she had sufficiently astonished them. There was a toss of her head and a flash of blue, then she disappeared. Her laughter hung on the breeze for a moment then it too drifted away, leaving behind a stunned silence.

  Landon replayed the last few moments in his mind. His arm across her chest adjusting the blade…his knee nudging the inside of her thigh to widen her stance…It’s a wonder she didn’t clobber him over the head with her sword.

  Keelan’s face hadn’t been flushed with anger and restraint; instead, she’d been blushing in acute embarrassment. Landon caught sight of the valet’s barely extinguished frown.

  “My apologies,” he said, fighting to smother a grin.

  Daniel nodded. He fidgeted with his belt a moment before he spoke. “It’s best forgotten, if you will.” He handed the dirk to the captain. “Come, let’s retrieve your horses and get them to the stables. Commodore Grey and his brother are most curious as to the nature of this meeting you have requested.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  She’d made a terrible mistake. A stupid mistake.

  Keelan jogged down the path in the direction of the main house. She’d retrieved Daniel’s dirk from the tree trunk and her own poorly thrown dagger, which she sheathed in irritation. She placed Daniel’s dagger into the back of her waistband.

  “Too bad your short blade is weak. My men can do better,” she mimicked. “We fight privateers and pirates…Bah! I’ve been training with Daniel since I was ten. I can throw a bloody dirk as good or better than any gritty sailor.”

  The heady aroma of pine surrounded her. She tore a few needles from a drooping branch and rubbed them between her fingers to further release the refreshing scent, hoping to calm her nerves a bit.

  Why couldn’t she resist the urge to prove her worth to the men in the meadow? Why did she need to shock Captain Hart as he had shocked her? She had barely been able to quell her panic while he adjusted her grip on the dagger. However, what happened next almost sent her to flight. Landon Hart touched her in a place no man had ever dared. When he nudged his knee against the inside of her thigh, the heat from the outline of his leg had remained, even after he stepped away. The urge to slap him was overwhelming.

  She studied her wrist. Even now, the impression where his fingers had touched still seemed warm. Keelan frowned. In the past, enough suitors had pushed their presence upon her: an arm casually brushed against her breast while fastening her cloak, a thigh pressed against hers while seated on a settee. While those actions often earned them a stinging slap and a short path to the door, no man had ever affected her state of mind as Captain Hart had done so nonchalantly a few moments ago.

  All she’d been able to think about was the fact that he was touching her. His arm had almost brushed her breast when he reached around her chest to adjust her hold on the dagger. She fought to keep her outrage internal, and restrain from slapping his hands from hers and bolting away. She’d been terrified he’d discover she wasn’t a boy.

  However, now that point was mute. The entire episode seemed to have left her without any rational sense. She had foolishly revealed her identity as if there were no consequences at all. She stomped further along the wooded path, her irritation growing because she allowed her embarrassment and humiliation to distract her from exercising good judgment.

  Now she’d placed all involved in jeopardy.

  Daniel, especially.

  She swallowed, her stomach queasy with nervousness. She’d never forgive herself if her father’s servant was punished or let go because of her reckless actions.

  A couple weeks ago, after witnessing a training session between Keelan and Daniel, her Aunt Sarah had nearly fainted from shock. Uncle Jared quietly talked with her father, and asked them to cease the exercises. For added insurance toward her good behavior, Uncle Jared had confiscated her boots.

  Out of respect for his sister-in-law, Papa acquiesced publicly but privately encouraged Daniel to continue training her in secret. If the captain mentioned what he’d seen, then Uncle Jared could flog Daniel for disobedience, and Papa would use the occasion to bring up his desire to secure her future by marrying her to ancient Mr. Pratt. She kicked a pine cone, sending it flying into the dusky underbrush. It was crucial she find a way to meet with the captain alone and ask him to remain silent about the scene he’d witnessed. Would he agree to keep silent? What kind of man was Captain Hart? Honorable, she hoped. He was a ship’s captain, that had to count toward his reputation, did it not?

  Judging by their dress, both were men of significant means. With his sun-bronzed skin, and hair was dark as pitch hanging about his shoulders like a wild mane, it was easier to picture him as a Persian or better yet, a pirate. He had the cocky arrogance of a man used to taking what he pleased. His strong self-assurance unnerved her. Even the air about him vibrated with intense power and confident composure. The russet-haired business partner, with his neatly trimmed mustache and beard, had been pleasant and amiable.

  The path broke through the trees near the stables, and she crept inside to return the boots she had borrowed earlier from one of the slumbering grooms.

  Keelan headed toward Slaney, her maid, who stood amid a flock of at least two hundred chickens and geese. The petite woman with boisterous salt and pepper curls and twinkling gray eyes had been with Keelan’s family for as long as she could remember. Back home in Chatham, England, Keelan’s mother had been content to let Slaney care for her daughter.

  Mother seemed to resent Keelan’s intrusion into her life and spent most of her time in her shop. When Keelan was younger, she happily spent her days with Slaney, rather than her melancholy mother, who never spoke unless it was to criticize.

  That life was gone now. The scandal surrounding her father’s court marshal, followed by the strange deaths of her mother and aunt, had disrupted the path of her life like a stream of water is redirected when a jagged rut is carved into the earth.

  Slaney, quite the opposite from Mother, teased and laughed and told exhilarating stories about pirates and giants and magic faeries. It was Slaney who dried her tears, wrapped her scrapes, and taught her how to draw.

  But it was Daniel who taught her to defend herself. She chewed at her lip. And now she had endangered his well-being and employment.

  “This squawking and honking is enough ter wake the dead,” Slaney muttered. She scattered another handful of grain over the dirt yard, and shrieked when a bold rooster pecked at a wayward kernel which had landed on the top of her shoe.

  “These are the only shoes I have, ye wicked cock! Be off with ye!”

  With an insulted squawk, the rooster flapped away in an effort to dodge Slaney’s swinging foot. The sea of fowl parted briefly with his departure but soon clucked its way back into a mass of scratching and pecking birds.

  “Good morning, Slaney.”

 
; “A fair morning to ye, Mistress,” the maid replied. Slaney clucked her tongue with disapproval, sounding much like one of the chickens still pecking at her feet. “Yer a sight! The whole house will soon be awake. Should Himself see ye, there will be hell to pay, for sure. Best ye go inside and clean up, lass.”

  “Is Uncle Jared about yet then?” Keelan asked, ignoring the maid’s mild tirade. “There are two merchant ship captains here to see him and Father.”

  “I’ll tell him. ‘Tis already almost seven o’clock, and ye know breakfast is served at half past eight.”

  “I’ll be on time, Slaney, don’t worry,” Keelan said. A movement caught her eye, and she glanced up to see Daniel and the two visitors leading horses down the lane toward the stable.

  “Well, don’t get distracted this morn. Your father will want to speak to ye, and I’ll not have him see ye lookin’ like a common stable boy,” Slaney said, with an unconvincing scowl.

  “How is Papa?” Keelan asked, hoping his color and appetite had returned with a good night’s rest.

  Slaney’s expression softened. “Weary. He’s up and sittin’ in the chair by his window. Perhaps if you sit with him, he’ll eat something.”

  Keelan nodded. “I will.” She reached down, withdrew a handful of grain from Slaney’s bucket, and tossed it across the ground. "Why are you feeding the chickens? Isn't little Joseph supposed to do this?”

  “You needn’t worry about such matters. But if you must know, he’s tending the smokehouse because they just put up a hog.” Slaney flung the remaining grain with the breeze and waded through the chickens toward the kitchen house. “I’ll heat some water for yer bath. Don’t tarry long.”

  Keelan shook her head. Although she tried to hide it, Slaney had a soft spot for chickens. Keelan stared at the pecking birds and recalled the conversation she had yesterday with Papa about marrying Mr. Pratt to merge the two plantations. She didn’t want to get married.

  Not yet. And to Pratt, not ever.

  She didn’t want to live on a plantation, either. She was a shopkeeper’s daughter and needed to be a part of the bustling life of a city, buying and selling wares from exotic places, not buying and selling slaves to work on a plantation.

  “Marriage.” The word tasted bitter, like rancid oil.

  After seeing how the bonds of marriage affected her parents, she was not in a hurry to wed. When her father had been a commodore in His Majesty's Navy, he was gone for months at a time, leaving her mother alone and unhappy. During the short time he spent at home, her mother demanded most of it, even becoming jealous of the small intervals he gifted to Keelan.

  Shaking away the dark musings of marriage and her ill father, she turned and trotted to the rear of the main house, enjoying the refreshing coolness of the dew-laced grass on her bare feet. If she sneaked in the back door the servants used, then she could avoid any encounters with members of her extended family. While she was grateful her Uncle Jared agreed to run the plantation until her father’s good health returned, it meant she also had to interact with her spoiled cousin, Doreen. Thankfully, the girl usually slept until midday. She paused. Would it be better to wait by the barn and hope to catch Captain Hart before he went into the house, or should she quickly change first?

  What if Uncle Jared caught her? She decided to change.

  She grabbed the latch and sucked in her breath at the sting that shot across her injured thumb. Fresh blood streamed along her palm and dripped off the heel of her hand. It wouldn’t do to track blood to her bedroom. Remembering the marigold tincture Slaney used for cuts and bruises, she dashed for the kitchen house to find the maid’s herb box.

  The kitchen was empty. A teakettle hung from an iron arm beside the hearth, steam still puffing from the spout. In front of the hearth, keeping warm, a plate of rice scones perched in the middle of a bench. Corn mush fried and popped in a large iron skillet, the aroma infusing the air. Her stomach growled, pushing all other immediate issues from her mind.

  An hour and a half was a long time to wait for breakfast.

  Sneaking a furtive glance around the room, she liberated a warm, soft scone from the plate. Too hungry to bother with butter or jam, she took a bite and closed her eyes as it melted in her mouth.

  “Well, is ‘bout time ya come see me, Miss Keelan,” Ruth said, as she emerged from the pantry.

  Keelan jumped and the scone flew from her grasp. It bobbled in between her hands until she regained possession of it. “Ruth, you gave me a start!” She smiled at the short, plump cook and gestured guiltily at the pastry, now pressed against her chest. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m famished.”

  The slave gave her an odd look, but recovered quickly. “Goodness gracious, dis here’s your home. You can git a bite anytime.”

  The kitchen door flew open and Slaney whisked inside. Kicking the door shut behind her, she placed a garden basket on the table. “Wouldn’t hurt ter put some meat on her bones. The lass will flutter away like a milkweed thistle in the wind one day and we’ll never see her again.” The herbs from her basket wafted through the room.

  “All she need is a few more months of my cookin’ and she’ll plump right out,” Ruth said with a chuckle.

  “What she needs to do is get herself up to the main house and dress for breakfast,” Slaney chided, pulling a handful of herbs from her basket.

  “Oh, Miss Keelan,” Ruth said, glancing at the cut. “How did you do dat?”

  Keelan and Slaney exchanged glances. She suspected the house slaves gossiped as much as any other servants would. It wasn’t as if she could hide the fact she was wearing boy’s clothing.

  “I cut it on a dagger. Daniel is teaching me how to protect myself in case those who have murdered most of my father’s family in England decide to follow us here.”

  “I was sorry to hear ‘bout dat, Miss Keelan. But dey didn’t kill ‘em all did dey?”

  “No, so far my father’s elder brother has eluded them, although they’ve tried several times.”

  Slaney inspected Keelan’s hand. The woman tsked as she examined the cut then went to the cupboard and pulled out a wooden box. She selected a small bottle, a clove of garlic, and grabbed a marigold from the herb basket.

  “Let me see, lass.” She held out a hand expectantly. Keelan eyed the bottle for a moment before she did as she was told. Slaney poured a few drops on the wound.

  Keelan sucked in her breath at the sting. “Ouch! What is that?” She snatched her hand away and shook it. “It burns like the devil!”

  Slaney grabbed Keelan’s hand and held it firmly. “Such language from a gentle lady. Yer mum, God rest her soul, would be horrified to hear ye go on. Now sit ye still. ‘Tis vinegar. That or whiskey must be used to cleanse a wound properly.”

  Duly chastised, Keelan sat and quietly bit into the stolen scone while Slaney splashed more vinegar on the cut. The sting made her eyes water.

  Next, the maid reached for the garlic, pulled off a clove, sliced it in half, and rubbed it over the wound, eliciting another wince from Keelan. “Garlic will prevent infection,” Slaney said. Last, she crushed the marigold petals, pressed them over the cut, and wrapped her hand in a small damp linen cloth.

  “Keep it wrapped,” she said. “’Twill keep out the pus.”

  Keelan turned to the cook and gestured to the last bite of scone. “Ruth, I would love to learn how you make these.” She popped it into her mouth and munched happily. It was something her mother might have sold in her shop, partnered with jellies and jams.

  The cook’s soft, brown face broke into a pleased smile. “Come in the mornin’ ‘fore sunrise, an’ I’ll show ya in no time.” Ruth turned and pulled a plate from the shelf. “Now sit yo’ self down, child. I can’t stand to see ya starve to death right here in the kitchen house.”

  To Keelan’s dismay, Ruth served her a plate of fried corn mush doused in cane syrup, a cup of tea, and another scone slathered with fresh butter and sweet, amber honey.

  I have to get to the b
arn and intercept Hart and O'Brien!

  Mentally calculating the time it would take Daniel and the two ship captains to reach the barn and turn over the horses to a stable boy, Keelan estimated that she had a couple of precious minutes before she had to leave. There would be no time for her to first change into a gown, however. She shoveled a large bite of corn mush into her mouth, trying to choose the right words she would use to convince the two sea captains to keep her clandestine activities to themselves.

  Slaney glanced out the kitchen house window. “I see Daniel and our visitors are near. I’d best get along and tell Mr. Grey his guests are here. And you, mistress, best get along before you’re caught in those clothes.”

  Keelan’s fork clattered on her plate and she virtually flew out of the door, praying she would be able to speak with Captain Hart then sneak up to her room.

  Hurry. Slaney’s warning echoed in her head. Keelan took a shortcut through the garden. The entire household was probably awake.

  She ducked beneath an arbor laden with lazy, purple wisteria blossoms. Aunt Sarah’s garden created a buffet for the senses. Eight neatly trimmed squares of lavender, rosemary, and thyme hedges could barely accommodate the bright bursts of colorful flowers flaming up toward the blue South Carolina sky. The neat checkerboard of raised square beds flowed down over several tiers and stopped near the glassy surface of a small pond.

  The sound of Daniel’s voice jolted her into motion as it filtered through the hedges.

  “Twin Pines is a 300-acre plantation. The main house sits at the end of the long lane you started down earlier. We’ve only been here a few months. The commodore’s younger brother, Mr. Grey, has extensive business knowledge of milling lumber and is an extremely effective overseer. He splits his time between his business in Charleston and the mill.”