by Lisa Olech
“You’re not going to try to cook this poor bird, too?”
“Of course not.” He moved to the back where the food was kept and retrieved a wooden box, lined in straw used to store eggs. He removed the last few remaining eggs and gave it to Jocelyn. “Can’t be carrying the thing about in your skirts, now ken ya?” He gathered a few bits of fruit and bread and added it to the box. “If he survives the day, you may get him to eat.”
She lifted her eyes to his with that look upon her face. The one of adoration he had come to both favor and fear. “Thank you.” She laid the bird gently into its new nest. “I’m sorry I called you a jackass earlier. It was unfair of me.”
“’Twas yer right.” Ric unrolled the charts and looked at them with unseeing eyes. The tenderness in her voice was like a siren’s song. Reaching past the noise of his stress and frustration and offering him a soft place to lay his aching head. She couldn’t know such kindness only raised a longing in him he didn’t dare think about.
“I only wanted to help.” Her quiet words reached deeper into his heart. “It’s true, I have led a pampered, cloistered life. But it was never my choosing. Now I find myself in a situation where I must be strong and capable, and fight to survive. It’s a powerful feeling and I’m confident I’m up to the task. Whatever it shall be.”
He lifted his gaze to hers once more. “I understand you want to spread your wings,” he gestured to the crate. “Like our sopping friend here. But like him, you’re flying blindly into a storm that will kill you. I can’t let that happen. I won’t. You have no notion of what life is like out here. Every day is a battle of one sort or the other.”
“I’m going to have to learn sooner or later.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Ric opened the logbook. Putting a barrier between him and the pull of her gentle gaze.
“There comes a time when everyone has to, and mine is now. Even you can’t save me from that.”
“I can do my best.”
They sat in quiet for a long moment before Jocelyn stood and gathered her feathered charge. “Is your nickname, The Great Protector?”
“No.” Ric lifted his gaze to meet hers.
She gave a small shake to her head. “Exactly.”
After Jocelyn left, Ric lit a lantern against the gloom and scribbled into the ship’s log. He added the name of one broken bird to their meager roster, and once more tried to figure out how they could make their way from here to Fort de Rocher with five men, two boys, two women, and a one-winged crow.
Why did he feel as if he were sailing them all off the edge of the earth. The Great Protector? That was laughable. It was more like The Great Pretender.
Chapter 10
Jocelyn peered into the makeshift nest of straw as she headed down to Tupper’s cabin. She remembered seeing rolls of linen strips when she was tidying things yesterday in the Captain’s quarters. She would ask for one to bind the poor bird’s wing. There was no guarantee the crow would survive, but it should be given a chance.
She tapped lightly on the door, hesitant that she would wake Tupper.
The “Come.” from within surprised her. Seeing Tupper up and seated by the window surprised her even more. She was wrapped in a blanket with her knees pulled tight to her chest. Hair in disarray hid half her features.
“I didn’t want to disturb you. How are you feeling?”
“How should I feel?” She turned to look at her. Dusty crescent moons shadowed Tupper’s eyes, made all the more pronounced by the paleness of her face. She pulled the blanket tighter.
“No one can answer that question. A person’s grief is their own.”
Tupper turned back toward the windows. “We’re leaving Jamaica.” It wasn’t a question.
“Oui.” From the bow of windows, the devastated island pulled farther and farther away. “There were no ships available. Ric promised to return me to my father, however. Without other transport, he means to bring me there himself.”
Tupper looked back over her shoulder. Her eyebrows knit in concern. “If the Scarlet Night sails into Tortuga, the French will blow us out of the water.”
“The French, meaning my father.” Jocelyn nodded and sighed. “Oui, they understand. Ric and the others have been discussing the dangers. They are working on a plan. You have my word, however, I won’t allow them to risk their lives for me.”
Turning back to the windows, Tupper spoke to the sea. “So Robbins is captain?”
“For now, I believe.” Jocelyn wasn’t sure what to say. The way Tupper asked with such a quiet resolve, she wasn’t sure if she was angry or hurt or relieved.
Tupper lifted a shoulder. “Someone needed to take charge. Ric will do well. He’s smart.”
Jocelyn fought the urge to wrap Tupper in a comforting embrace. “He cares a great deal for this ship, and for all of you.”
Tupper tucked her chin and hugged her knees. “What’s in the box?” She hadn’t looked back.
“Oh, this is Leviticus. A Jamaican crow. He flew into one of the sails during the storm and hurt his wing. When I was putting things away here earlier, I noticed some linen strips. I was wondering if I could have one to bind the poor thing. Perhaps it will heal.” She set the crate on the desk. “The others don’t believe he’ll make it, but there’s been so much death already, I had to try.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. “I don’t mean that a bird compares in any way to--”
“Forget it. I know what you meant. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
Jocelyn was grateful for something to do. Not having words to offer comfort made her feel helpless. Binding this small creature’s injury at least made her feel like she was doing something to ease someone’s pain.
“There is always death and danger surrounding us.” Tupper spoke again to the window glass. Her breath fogged the triangle. “It’s part of us. We fight it every day. I knew the risks of living this life. Loving Gavin. Once I made the choice to join this crew and become his wife, I never took one day for granted. I always hoped I’d be the one to fall first. Or at least we’d be lucky enough to die together. Amidst some epic battle fighting side by side through a fog of cannon smoke. Or through a hellish storm that would wash us both to our watery graves. I never imagined it would end like this. With him dying first. Not this way. Evening knowing I might lose him one day, I never imagined it would hurt quite this much.”
“You love him. From what you’ve told me, he loved you as much. I can only believe such affection never dies.” Jocelyn took care to wrap the bird’s wing before winding the bandage loosely around the crow’s body to keep the wing still and let it heal. She could feel the flutter of its heart, but it still hadn’t opened its eyes. She finished and moved to wash her hands. “I don’t know if the Sisters were right in their beliefs, but they always taught us that life goes on. They told me someday I would see my mother again. I’ve doubted so many of their teachings, but I’ve held that one tight to my heart. I was but a child when she died. Her face is a soft blur in my memory. But from time to time I still smell her perfume, hear the lullaby she would hum to me when she tucked me in at night. I hold on to the hope in this, the Sisters were right. That one day I will see her again.”
Tupper ran a hand over her eyes. “I’ve heard the same fairy tale. I wasn’t a young child, but closer to grown when I lost my mother. Never knew my father. I didn’t believe it then, but I would like to believe it now.” She gestured toward the crow. “What are you going to do with it now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m to do with myself.” Jocelyn raised one shoulder in a shrug as a knock sounded on the door. Two sharp raps followed by two slow.
“Bump.” Tupper rose, a flash of worry crossing her face as she rushed to the door and let him in. She held her hands with one finger bent toward her and moved them alternately back and forth in front of her chest. “I was worried. Are you all right?” She grasped his arms and peered into
his face before putting a fist to her heart and rubbing it in a circle. “Sorry. I…I’m sorry.”
Bump held her gaze with wide unblinking eyes. His mouth pressed to a flat line before he gave Tupper the tiniest tip of a nod. He made a few gestures and pointed toward Jocelyn.
“He’s here to show you to your quarters.” Tupper’s eyes never left the boy. “Ric’s set up a bit of space for you. Away from the men.” She looked over at her. “I know the space he means. It’s small, but you’ll have some privacy, and a comfortable place to lie down.”
“One night sleeping on the deck was enough for me. I’ll be grateful for wherever I can lay my head.”
Tupper returned her attention to Bump and gestured over her shoulder. “Come back when you’re done?” She put a finger to her lips and tipped it away. “We’ll talk?”
Bump nodded in agreement and turned to leave. He shot Jocelyn a glance she quickly translated to mean, “Follow me.”
“Leave the bird with me, if you’d like. Your room is barely big enough for you, and it has no windows or light. He may do better to recover here. I can look after him.”
“I think that sounds like a fine idea.”
Tupper stepped back and checked the crate. “What’s his name again?”
“Leviticus. It’s from the Bible.”
Jocelyn followed the slender back of the young man. She wished she had asked Tupper how to use her hands to say thank you to Bump. She still owed her life in part to the boy.
He stopped and lifted a lantern before opening a narrow rough-hewn door. It swung open a fraction before hitting something within.
Bump handed her the lantern and simply pointed into the darkened space. When he eased past her to leave, she reached out a hand to stop him. “Thank you.” She hoped somehow, he would understand.
Instead, he jerked his arm from her grasp and made a few quick gestures. He stood for half a heartbeat staring at his feet before lifting angry eyes to her. She didn’t need to know the words his hands spoke. His eyes told her everything. Desolation and fury flittered across his features. His silent mouth pursed in rage as his hands flew at her.
Was he upset they had taken the time to rescue her, when they couldn’t save the others? Was he railing at her because he believed he and Ric should have stayed? Tried again to go back? Or was he simply “screaming” at the one person who wouldn’t know the pain behind his words.
Jocelyn stood there and “listened” to his rant. She wouldn’t deny him his anger. Her heart ached for him. Tears caught in her throat. When it was over, Bump dropped his hands to his sides, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. Jocelyn took her fist and made a circle over her heart as she had seen Tupper do a few minutes earlier.
His eyes widened and followed the motion of her hand before meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry, Bump. I really am.”
The boy’s throat worked as he watched her mouth. He raised those deep, all-seeing eyes to hers once more before turning and hurrying away.
Jocelyn was once again struck by the fact that these men and women...woman…while being fierce, fighting pirates, not only lived in a world larger than life, they lived and loved and suffered as large. Perhaps more so. This wasn’t simply a ship. In its own way, it was a village, an army, a family.
Raising her lantern, she inspected her new quarters, if one could call it such. The space was created by walling off a section of the storage hold using a length of sailcloth. Peering past the stiff fabric, Jocelyn could make out barrels and coils of rope.
A narrow cot fit between the door and the curve of the ship’s hull. A blanket of rough wool sat folded at its foot. A small table with pitcher and washing cloth, and a small stool were the only other furnishings.
Life at the abbey had prepared her for a life of simplicity. Had she been raised in splendor, she would surely have been horrified at the accommodations, but her room at Sainte-Genevieve had been tiny and stark. Not quite this small, but closing the door, she noticed it afforded her one thing her room at the abbey had not. A lock. Privacy. Suddenly, her sailcloth cabin rivaled a silk bedecked suite.
The first thing she did was rid herself of her sodden skirts and stockings. She paused while removing Ric’s shirt. Her thumb rubbing at the rough weave of the fabric. Once again, his generosity surprised her. Touched her. He had a hardened edge like a well-honed ax blade, but there was much more to him. The way he’d taken on the position of captain, stepped up when needed. His caring and consideration, not only for her, but for those around him, was equally laudable.
But standing there in nothing but his shirt, it wasn’t his compassion and competency she was contemplating. No. She smoothed the fabric tight across her breasts. The rough weave teased the chilled peaks of her nipples.
Waking up in his arms, feeling the strong curve of his chest beneath her cheek was what filled her thoughts. Her bare thigh slung over his hip. His arms holding her tight. She wanted that again. Dare she admit she wanted more?
Her hand cupped the heaviness of her breast. What would it be like to have him touch her there? Caress the sensitive skin. Her fingers trailed lower, over her belly, down one thigh and back up. She trembled at the thought of his fingers taking the same path.
She shot a glance behind her, making sure the door was indeed locked, then striped out of his shirt and stood naked. Laying the shirt over her front, she took the wide sleeves and draped them over her shoulders as she imagined him taking her in his arms.
Jocelyn closed her eyes and fantasized about pressing against him. Their bodies fitting together perfectly…she’d stand on tiptoe. Run her fingers into his golden hair as his hands would wander down her back, over her behind, drawing her tight to him.
Then he would kiss her. Jocelyn’s body trembled at the thought. She remembered some of the country girls at the abbey talking about their stolen kisses behind the hedges. What would Ric’s kiss be like? Would he crush his mouth to hers in a blind fit of passion, or would he take her lips slowly in a gentle press? Would he tilt her chin with the touch of a finger? Cup her cheek? Slip the tip of his tongue…
She had to sit down. Her heart raced. Her thighs quivered, and an ache coiled deep within her. She crushed the shirt to her chest and buried a frustrated moan into the fabric.
What had come over her? She was behaving like a starving woman before a loaf of bread. The ache between her thighs spread through her and brought a tingling to her fingers and toes. Moments ago, she’d been cold and chilled, now she was aflame.
Rushing to the pitcher, she dampened the cloth and held it to her throat, her chest, her cheeks. How could the thought of one kiss cause such a heated reaction? Was she so desperate to feel a man’s lips on hers? Experience a man’s touch?
No, not a man, one man...that man. Captain Ric Robbins needed to kiss her. And soon.
Chapter 11
“Dowd, I want you in the nest.”
The man before him paled visibly. “But…but…”
Ric pointed to the crow’s-nest high above the decks. “I need a man up there to keep look out, and you’re it.”
“I’m beggin’ ye, Capt’n. Can’t it be somebody else?” Dowd raised his chin and lifted his eyes. “It’s so…high.”
“Hard having a crow’s-nest positioned on the keel. Can’t see a damn thing down there between the barnacles and all that water. Of course, if you’d like to give it a try, I’ll rig the rope.”
“No, no…” He held his hand in surrender. “I’ll go…it’s just…” Dowd’s eyes made the long slow journey up the mast once more. “I’m plum petrified of heights.”
Ric pushed an eyeglass into his hands. “Then don’t look down.” He gave him a shove toward the rigging. “You only need to be up there ‘til nightfall. I need to know if there are any ships in the area before they see us. Understand?”
“Aye, I understand.” Dowd clutched the brass to his chest and began a slow climb up the main mast muttering, “Don’t lo
ok down, don’t look down.”
The rains had passed, and the last of the clouds had given way to the bright blaze of the setting sun that sparkled on the scrubbed decks. Aye, the Scarlet was a beauty. Ric stood at her helm a bit taller. Puffed his chest. Pulled in a great breath of sea air, and allowed himself to feel a bit of pride at his new command. Even if it were for a short time, the Scarlet Night was his.
He eased the bow to starboard, setting them on a northeastern course. He’d spent the last hours combing over Quinn’s maps and charts and made the decision they wouldn’t be sailing through the Windward Passage. It was a fool’s journey given their lack of speed and men.
They would sail along Hispaniola’s southern coast. Instead of fighting the winds, they could circle around the eastern tip and use the trade winds to cut back along the northern shore.
Keeping close to the shallows, there would be more places to slip away should another ship cross their paths. MacTavish had reported that they were in good shape as far as ammunition and readied sacks of black powder, should they need it. Ric prayed they wouldn’t.
Once they got close enough to Port de Paix, they could anchor a safe distance away, and he would bring Jocelyn into the city. Then they could cross to Tortuga. Yes, it would take them longer, by a good week, but they weren’t in a hurry to be somewhere else. This way would give them time to adjust to operating the ship with so few hands.
Ric watched as Jocelyn came up the ladder way to deck side. She’d pulled her hair up and tied it with a bit of something. He couldn’t make it out from this distance, but the effect hit him like a fist. The gentle sweep of her neck and sun kissed shoulders. The soft line of her jaw. His own jaw tensed. She was beautiful.
When he’d decided on this new course, he had to admit, part of him was pleased with the extra bit of time she could be with him, but with the pleasure came the frustration of knowing it would be that much longer fighting his growing attraction to the woman.
His brain repeated the litany of reasons why he needed to keep his hands from her. His body was another matter. It was unused to hearing “No” from his brain. Ric shifted his stance. The sudden tightness in his breeches followed by a pulse of blood to his erection, a clear warning. Yes, the swords were drawn, and the battle between his mind and his need waged.
