Marcel, sensing her trepidation, pointed to the water which had seeped in. “Iz from the hause bucklers.”
At her confused expression, he tried again. “Ze pressing of ze ship against the water when swells come, push water through ze house bucklers. The Desire, she iz strong and brave. And nimble as a cat. No reason to worry. We sailed through worse.”
As they finished, a large group of crewmen came down below and collapsed wearily at the tables propped between the guns on the gun deck. Marcel jerked his head toward the galley and they went to prepare the meal, which would be nothing more than a piece or two of dried beef, hard biscuits, grog and a chunk of cheese.
The lurch and groan of the ship had Keelan gripping edges of the tables as she staggered past. Aside from rough seas like this, she was getting used to being on the water, and actually enjoyed it. She still moved like a landlubber, however. How long would it take her to develop “sea legs?” Lanterns swung in unison, casting quick shadows followed by fans of light. The Desire pitched sharply and Keelan stumbled. A burly arm shot out and grabbed her collar.
“Careful, boy,” Gus said. “Best ye find a spot and stay there.”
“How do you keep you footing when the ship bucks and tilts?” She was breathless from her effort to stay upright.
Gus sat back and scratched his salt and pepper beard. “Seein’ how yer father is a horsemaster, I’ll put it this way…” He finished his grog. “When the horse jumps a hedge, do ye try and keep yer seat straight and still on the saddle?”
At last! Something with which she was familiar, although she hadn’t jumped a horse since she was twelve. She shook her head. “You’d fall off if you tried to keep your seat on the saddle. You have to stand in the stirrups and keep your legs soft to absorb the force of the jump.”
Gus cocked his head. “Ye Persians sure do use peculiar language, but aye. So, ye does the same thing on the water. Mount the Desire as ye would a proud filly. Ye’ll never tame her, so don’t try. All ye can do is melt into her rhythm. Keep yer knees soft and let her rise up to ye. When she sighs and falls away, don’t fight her and try to follow. Let her go. She’ll come back to ye in her own time. Keep yer guts even with the world and ye won’t gets seasick, neither.”
Keelan let go of the table and heeded his advice. Sure enough, it was similar to jumping her pony. She’d have to mention this method to poor Elle. She grinned her thanks to Gus, then asked, “Where’s the captain?”
“He has first watch,” Gus replied, dipping his tankard into a bucket hanging from a rope secured to the ceiling. “Best fer ye to stay below, outta the way, though.”
After serving the men their rations for the evening, she helped Marcel secure the galley before she went back to their cabin. The room tilted and shifted causing her feet to slide and her stomach to slam into her ribs.
Keep my guts even with the world. Keep my guts even with the world.
Relaxing her legs, she allowed the Desire to take the lead in this rolling dance. This was much better. A powerful wave crashed into the side of the ship and she was pleasantly surprised and happy with the way she handled it. Now that Gus had revealed the secret to handling the motion, it was much easier to move about. She slipped a couple biscuits in her pocket for Landon, and left the galley to make her way to the ladder and up to the main deck. Was he alone at the helm? She’d forgotten to ask Gus. If so, he might like some company in addition to the biscuits, until the next watch took over and he had a chance to rest below and eat.
She raised the hatch, a lash of stinging, sea spray hit her full in the face. The main deck forward sloshed with water, and the entire ship rose and fell in a furious coupling with the sea. The waves crashed against the ship’s sides and exploded into the air, bringing the ocean to the ship.
For a second, she hesitated. Keelan Grey Hart might want to retreat below to stay dry, but the boy, Mahdi, would be more courageous, wouldn’t he? She looked toward the helm, her husbands form was barely visible through the torrent. If Landon could brave the gale, so could she. Had she not once raced a horse through similar weather, trying to beat a terrible storm? This couldn’t be any worse than that, could it?
Keelan climbed out and took a step. The deck jolted, as if trying to fling her away from the safety of the hold. Everything was shiny with seawater and slick. Her feet flew away from her and the tilt of the ship sent her crashing to the boards. Wet and bruised, she pulled herself to her feet by grasping the lines attached to the belaying pins.
Terror pulsed through her limbs. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come up on deck. She’d underestimated the power of the ship and the winds and the storm. Landon was only a hundred yards away, but he might as well have been in China. Through sheer will and self-preservation, she managed to gain her footing in time for the Desire to send her tumbling toward midships.
Unless she found some sort of purchase, she’d fly by and continue on until she was flung like a piece of cloth into the furious ocean. She was at the mercy of the glistening boards that locked together to form the bones, the sinew, and the skin of the Desire, which heaved against the rage of the ocean.
Before she reached the rail, another wave hit the ship. Her feet flew away from her again and she hit the deck hard. Before she had time to suck in a breath, the Desire saw fit to pour her into a space between two of the petite guns on the deck, instead of tossing her into the sea. Keelan’s cold, wet fingers curled around the thick ropes securing the gun.
If she’d had the time, she might have screamed or sobbed in fear, but the tempest didn’t permit a pause for such frivolous things. It only continued to pound the ocean like a giant child throwing a tantrum, left fist plunged into the water, right fist plunged into the water…
She peered through the rain to the hatch leading into the hold, then the distance to the helm, and then to Landon. Retracing her steps back below was more treacherous than continuing her fight to the helm at this point. It took every ounce of strength and courage to release her grip from the ropes and drive forward to the helm, where two other sailors were clinging on to the wheel with Landon, straining to keep the ship from broaching into the sea.
The thrumming, creaking and whistling of the ropes, lines and spars cracked and sang in her ears. The wind and rain pelted her skin. She’d no idea the storm had become so viscous while she’d been below. In her defense, she’d no idea what to expect of it, but then again, she’d never been one to take heed of a storm warning, had she?
To say that the journey toward the helm was arduous would have been grossly understating the event. If she’d been any less stubborn she’d never have made it. The bowsprit reared up skyward as if to impale the turbulent clouds, making Keelan’s legs as heavy as stone. Then it swooped down to crash into the waves in a violent explosion of white, which had her teetering on her toes, light as a mouse. She finally made it past the main mast encircled with the barrels she and Daniel had secured earlier. Only a few paces to go, thank God.
Several smaller sails were still in service, their sheets flat and rigid in the wind. Shielding her eyes against the salt spray, she sought Landon at the helm. His feet were braced wide, and he was heaving his broad chest into the wheel. His dark wet curls whipped around his face, his jaw set. She pulled herself toward the companion ladder that led up to where he stood. Almost there.
“Mahdi!”
His shout stopped her. There was a note of panic in his voice that made her pause. He waved his arm. “Move leeward! Starboard!”
Confused, she froze.
“To your right, dammit!”
A loud crack followed by a low rumble sounded behind her and she turned as the barrels around the main mast came loose. They began to roll toward the front of the ship. One had hit the foremast and split open spilling sand across the deck. The bowsprit once again crashed down into the waves.
A jolt of horror shook her limbs. Next, the front of the ship would rear back up and when it did, the barrels would reverse direction an
d roll toward the stern. Toward her.
Dear God, help me.
She turned and ran. The pitch of the ship had her running up a steep, slippery slope. A half dozen strides away from her goal, the plume of water hit and shook the front part of the ship. For a second the rumble ceased.
But only for a second.
Panic nearly paralyzed her limbs. The barrels began to roll and bounce toward her. She turned back toward Landon. He had leapt down the companion ladder toward her.
“Take to my arm!” He reached out to her as his boots hit the main deck. “Hold on!”
With that, he grabbed her and flung her toward the shelter between two canons secured on the right side of the ship as a barrel clipped the farthest gun, and launched into the air, whirling fiercely. Twisting his body, Landon put himself between Keelan and the flying barrel.
It hit them with the force of a raging bull before it crashed to the deck and broke into pieces.
Keelan gasped in pain and tried to take a breath. A heavy weight prevented any movement. She was face down on the deck. She craned her neck enough to see Landon’s body. It covered hers. And he wasn’t moving.
“Landon!” she cried his name, but he didn’t move.
A voice pierced the gale. She strained to raise her head until finally, Landon was lifted up and away from her. A sailor dashed up the companion ladder to take the helm with two others. Gus tossed Landon over his shoulder and Ronnie grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet.
Together, they battled the pitch and roll of the ship to the captain’s cabin. Gus dropped Landon on his bed then turned to her, his eyes flashing.
“What the hell did ye think ye were doin’ out on that deck? Yer a lubber. Ye ain’t got any sailin’ know-how. Ye just ‘bout killed yerself and yer captain, ye witless scamp!”
Gus’s fists were clenched and he advanced upon Keelan like a raging ox. If she hadn’t been braced against the cabin wall, she’d have collapsed right there in her boots.
Ronnie stepped between Gus and Keelan. “Twas a greenie mistake, sir.” His eyes shifted between the two. Gus hadn’t been told that Keelan was Landon’s wife. They’d decided to wait until after they left Charleston. In Gus’s eyes, she was a young boy, a novice and a liability.
Gus was as furious as the tempest outside. “Well, if it wasn’t fer this gale, he’d get five lashes from the cat,” he spat, shaking his fist.
Ronnie cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “Mahdi has some knowledge of healing. He can help the ship’s sawbones treat the captain. It’ll keep him outta the way.”
Gus scowled then shrugged before stomping out. “Go git the surgeon. I’m on watch,” he snapped before slamming the door.
Keelan leaned against the cabin wall and squeezed her eyes shut. What had she done? A choked sob escaped her throat and she fell away from Ronnie’s grip and staggered to her husband’s bedside.
“Landon!”
His shirt was soaked and stuck to his chest like skin. She placed her ear over his heart and closed her eyes, listening.
Dear God, please…let him be alive.
Was that a soft, distant heartbeat?
It was.
He was alive.
She raised up and examined him, checking for bruises, blood and feeling for broken bones. A small trickle of blood flowed from his ear.
“Let’s pull him out of these wet clothes, Miss Keelan,” Ronnie whispered, touching her shoulder. “The doc will want to see all of him.”
A day later, steady rain pummeled the ship, but the wind and rough seas had abated, somewhat. The sun tried to shove its way through the clouds, but the clouds refused it.
The ship’s surgeon examined Landon’s head, touching a large lump on his temple.
“It hasn’t changed since last night, a good sign. We’ll just have to wait it out,” he said, packing up the wooden carrier holding his surgeon’s supplies. “That large bruise on his upper back and shoulder may be hiding a broken bone or rib, but it’s the hit on the head to worry about.”
“How long until he wakes?” Keelan asked, dreading the answer.
“Don’t know.” He shook his head, turning toward the door. “He may not.”
Two days later, Landon still hadn’t moved nor made another sound since he’d been placed on his bed; not when they’d removed his clothes nor when Keelan poured whiskey on the small cut on his temple. Knowing how much whiskey stings an open wound, she’d expected a response of some sort, but Landon didn’t even flinch. Putting her head on his chest, she checked yet again for his heartbeat.
It was still there, thank God.
If only she hadn’t tried to traverse the deck in the storm. If only she’d stayed below and out of the way, Landon might not have been injured. Why hadn’t she simply turned back?
For the thousandth time, she whispered, “Please, Landon, love, wake up.” She pressed another kiss on his forehead.
This time, as if he’d heard her, Landon’s eyelids twitched and he let out a low moan.
“Landon?” Keelan tried to keep her voice level and calm, but she couldn’t contain the intertwined notes of relief and concern.
His eyes finally opened and he slowly moved his startling blue gaze to her face. His expression changed from wariness to confusion. He lifted his head and winced.
She pressed his shoulders back down. “Go slowly, you’re hurt.”
“Where am I?” He rubbed his forehead.
“You’re in your cabin aboard the Desire. You were hit on the head and have been unconscious for two days,” she explained.
He attempted to sit up then grimaced, and sunk back to a reclining position. “What happened?”
Keelan bit her lip, then answered, “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have come up on deck. We were hit by a loose barrel during the gale. I…I didn’t tie it down correctly. You were struck on the side of the head and back by one of them. Do you remember that?”
“There was a storm?” His hand was over his eyes, as if the light pained him.
He didn’t remember the storm? She spoke in a low tone, “Yes. It’s blown us quite a ways off course, but Gus said we should arrive in Charleston in a day or two, depending on the wind and the current.”
Landon glanced at her from under his hand. “What about Captain O’Brien and Captain Ahern? Did they weather the storm fairly? Have their ships been sighted?”
For a moment, Keelan wasn’t sure how to answer. It was impossible for either to be sighted. Both ships were currently bound for Jamaica. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to tell Landon his memory was off. She put her hand on his chest. “You’re a bit disoriented. You were hit hard.”
He brushed her hand away. Hurt by this, she sat back and regarded him. He was not acting…right. Something was wrong. His cool, aloof stare had her heart pounding in her chest and her stomach flipping in trepidation.
“Who are you?” he finally asked.
CHAPTER THREE
“Answer my question, boy.” Landon struggled up to his elbows, then pushed himself up to a sitting position, all the while watching her as if he expected her to stab him in the chest.
How was she supposed to answer that question? As Keelan Hart or as Mahdi? Keelan opened her mouth just as someone knocked.
“Enter.” Landon shifted his gaze from her to the door, and back. It opened and Gus stuck his head in and grinned.
“Captain! Yer awake! Glad I am to see this, I tell ye.” He grinned, then glanced at Keelan. “Mahdi, yer needed in the galley.”
She rose on shaky knees. Her mind kept swirling around a single thought:
My husband doesn’t recognize me.
Her throat tightened and she swallowed in an attempt to fend off the tears.
His attention was on his first mate. “Gus, is all well?” He glanced at Keelan. “I had just inquired to the welfare of Conal and Fynn. The boy said there was a storm…” he paused, his eyes once again wary as he took in Gus’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
/> Gus stepped inside the cabin, his face strangely blank. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it then closed it again before lifting a quizzical brow at her. She shrugged, unable to reveal herself to Gus. Landon had insisted that her true identity remain within their small group consisting of himself, Daniel and Ronnie. He didn’t want to expose the fact that she was a woman to the rest of the crew until they were well away from Charleston and Gampo’s spies and reward.
Gus blinked. “Well…er…”
“Out with it, man.” Landon swung his feet to the floor then groaned bracing his hands against the corner walls of the cabin; his eyes closed briefly. When they opened, he focused once again on Gus.
“Yes. Well…ye knows that ye took a hard clubbin’ to the noggin, right Cap’n?”
Landon shifted his intense blue gaze to Keelan for a moment. “Yes, the boy mentioned that.”
The boy. That’s all she was to him, a boy.
Gus shifted his weight and before trying another approach. “What’s the last thing ye remember, sir?”
Landon tilted his head, thinking. “Leaving port in Baracoa, to sail for New York.”
Gus nodded, pensive. “Which year was that, sir?”
Landon started. “Which year?” His eyes narrowed. “The year I returned home to Baracoa, to find my wife had died giving birth to another man’s child. That year,” he said flatly. “1806. And if you want to know the date, it was the twenty-fifth of May.”
Keelan fisted her shirt and swallowed. That was over five years ago!
Gus rubbed the back of his neck and expelled a lungful of breath. He turned on his heel and went to a wall cabinet, opened it and skimmed his thick fingers over several journals before pulling one out. He flipped open the front cover, glanced at it, snapped the book shut and handed it to Landon.
Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) Page 2
