In Enemy Hands

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “What is it, Simon?” Lily stared at the young man, and her voice was sharp.

  “We caught a man trying to sneak on board.” Simon was barely eighteen, and the idea of catching a stowaway was obviously exciting. His face was red, and he clenched and unclenched his hands. “What should we do with ’im?”

  “Do you know who he is?” she asked calmly.

  Simon nodded his head. “That fella Tommy had us tailin’ for the better part of a week. Walks with a cane, ’e does.”

  “Bring him here,” Lily ordered.

  Tommy and Cyril both stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. She’d gone so far to protect her identity, and now she was jeopardizing everything.

  “Just toss ’im over the side,” Tommy suggested. “’E can probably swim.”

  She heard Quint approaching down the narrow hallway, his cane tapping against the polished wood, that particular sound growing louder with each step as he neared the cabin. She listened, and the next moment Quint was standing in the doorway.

  She should have been afraid, but she was not. Perhaps she could believe, just a little, in his concept of destiny.

  His eyes fell on Lily, the soft light from a lantern illuminating her face, and he questioned her silently. Why was she here? He glared at Tommy briefly, then turned to the only other man in the room.

  The man on Lily’s left was as old as Tommy—certainly old enough to be Lily’s father. He stood not much taller than Lily herself and was possessed of unruly red hair and a bushy red moustache. The redheaded man was as thin as a reed, but there was strength in that slender body. You could see it in the way he stood, in the way he held himself.

  “Captain?” Quint asked, almost viciously. This runt was the infamous Captain Sherwood? The man Lily had committed herself to? Quint had approached the Chameleon intent on having it out with Sherwood, but this was not what he had expected.

  The red-haired man and Tommy both looked down at Lily, almost as if they were waiting for her to respond. She sighed, never taking her eyes away from him. The young sailor still gripped his arm, and the two of them blocked the doorway. There was no escape from this. Perhaps it was for the best.

  Lily lifted her hand into the air, almost an act of resignation. “What should I do with him? Lash him to the mast and have him whipped? Throw him into the brig?”

  “We don’t ’ave a brig,” Tommy said, and his voice held none of the humor Lily’s did.

  “Do they still keelhaul stowaways?” She looked to Tommy for an answer.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind tryin’ it with this blighter.”

  Quint looked at the red-haired man who still hadn’t spoken. With an air of discomfort, the man turned to Lily. “I really should return to the wheel.”

  Lily didn’t look at the man as she dismissed him, and the crewman who held Quint pushed him farther into the room to let the thin man pass by.

  “There’s irons in the cargo ’old,” the sailor said excitedly. “Should I fetch ’em, Cap’n?”

  Quint looked to Tommy for an answer. So, he was Captain Sherwood, after all. But Tommy just glared at him, and it was Lily who answered. “That won’t be necessary, Simon. You’re dismissed.”

  It was evident that Simon wasn’t quite ready to leave. He didn’t want to miss out on any of the action, but he backed out of the room silently.

  Quint stared at Lily, who sat so calmly at that table, while his confusion grew with each passing, silent second. Why had she been the one to answer?

  She tried to dismiss Tommy as she had the others, but he was determined to stay, darting glances full of hate in Quint’s direction. Finally, Lily turned to him calmly.

  “I can handle this myself, Tommy. You know that.” She interrupted his further protests. “On land you are my favorite uncle, but on board this ship I am captain, and you are my first mate.” She said the words firmly, but with love. “That was the deal we made, remember?”

  Tommy evidently didn’t like leaving Quint alone with Lily, but he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him when Lily asked him serenely to close it on his way out.

  When Tommy had slammed the door, leaving them alone, Lily rose from her seat. It was only then that Quint noticed what she was wearing. When she’d been seated, all he could see was the simple white shirt, but now he saw that she wore tight black pants, and when she stepped away from the table he saw knee-high black boots as well, well-worn and supple.

  “What am I going to do with you?” she asked with a half smile. “Conscript you? Put you to work shoveling coal in the engine room? Maroon you on a desert island?” Most all of her Southern accent had disappeared, and what remained was tempered with proper English and a hint of the Liverpool slums. This was the voice he had heard swearing, yelling bloody hell! at the top of her lungs that afternoon he had awakened her. She hadn’t been ill. She’d just returned from the sea.

  She was Captain Sherwood.

  There was no Captain Sherwood.

  “I don’t understand,” Quint said, taking a step toward her. He was beginning to understand, but it was impossible. She was a woman. She couldn’t be captain of any ship, much less a blockade runner.

  Lily read the thoughts on his face and laughed lightly. There was a mischievous sparkle in her blue-green eyes, a becoming blush on her cheeks. And he was looking at the real, unreserved Lily Radford.

  “Now you see why I had to invent Captain Sherwood. No one would believe…. ”

  Quint took a step toward her. “I’ve met people who claimed to know him.”

  “Isn’t that amazing? Sometimes Cyril or Tommy would wrap up in a cloak and be seen walking from the house, but that was all. The crew perpetuated the myth, as did I, and before I knew it, the nonexistent Captain Robert Sherwood was a bloody hero.”

  Quint grinned. He couldn’t accept it all, but one point was wonderfully clear. There was no Captain Sherwood. “I came here looking for a man who doesn’t exist, to convince him that I would be better for you than he’s been. That I could take better care of you than he has. And it appears that you don’t need anyone to take care of you at all.”

  Before she could answer, Quint had closed the short space between them and circled his arms around her, lowering his mouth to hers. This was a more powerful kiss than he’d given her before, searching and full of the knowledge that she belonged to him. She parted her lips to accept his probing tongue, relaxing and responding without reservation. Lily’s hands were in his hair, against the back of his head, brushing his neck as she held him to her. She pressed against him, the swell of her breasts, her belly and thighs arousing him.

  Lily drew away from him reluctantly. “I have to go on deck for a while.”

  “You’re the captain,” Quint said as he nibbled on her ear. “You can do whatever you want, can’t you?”

  “Stay here,” Lily said as she pressed her hands to his chest, firmly but tenderly. “Once we’re at sea I’ll come back to the cabin. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “That’s an understatement, Lily Radford.” Quint lifted his head and frowned slightly. “That is your real name, isn’t it?”

  Lily nodded. “I have to go.” She left him standing in the middle of the cabin, confused and stunned and elated. There was no Captain Sherwood.

  Like hell there wasn’t. Lily was Captain Sherwood!

  He had to convince her to stop this insanity. A woman? Running the blockade? Quint paced the cabin and his frown deepened. Not only was it dangerous for Lily, her enterprise was helping to prolong the war. It was his job—his duty—to stop her. He didn’t have to arrest her, just convince her to give this up. Captain Sherwood could retire, and Quint’s duty would be done.

  And what would Lily think when she found out he was a spy for the Union? Did he really expect that she would forgive him? Lily? She was as passionate about her beliefs as any man he’d ever met. He didn’t think she would give up without a fight.

  Quint’s eyes traveled over th
e room. The saber hanging on the wall, the large trunk, the small bed. He frowned at that. He would have liked to have Lily lie with him in the big bed in his hotel room, wide and soft and bright with crisp white sheets.

  By the time Lily returned to him, it was all he could think of… throwing her into the bed and burying himself inside her. But he wouldn’t. He wanted to kiss her all over; he wanted to make her as wild for him as he was for her.

  He grabbed Lily almost the moment the door was shut, and he gathered her into his arms possessively. He buried his face against her neck, savoring the smell of her. He could smell on her skin the fragrant flowers of the island and the sea air, salty and clean. He could get lost in her arms, lost in a sense he had never dreamed of.

  “Quint,” she whispered. “We need to talk.” Even as she spoke, he felt her melting in his arms.

  “Later,” Quint said huskily. He lowered his lips over hers and kissed her deeply, searchingly. Lily’s lips were as warm as the sun, as soft as the petals of the bright flowers that grew in her garden.

  Lily snaked her arms around Quint’s neck and smoothed her hands over his skin, the side of his neck, his shoulder as she slipped her fingers under his collar.

  Without lifting his lips from hers, Quint placed his hand between their bodies, laying it over her breast. Only the heavy linen of her shirt separated the heat of his palm from her nipple, and he felt it harden as Lily responded to his touch.

  “I want you so much,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she breathed against his mouth, arching against his hand.

  Lily felt the growing need inside her, a need only Quint could satisfy. She had denied herself his touch almost from the moment they’d met. Perhaps he had been right, after all. Perhaps it was destiny.

  “Yes,” she whispered again, pressing her body against his. She loved him. She’d been drawn to him from the beginning, but the last time she’d sent him away, more than a week ago, she’d known, because she’d thought her heart was broken. Love. An emotion she’d thought never to know.

  So what could be wrong with this? She lived an uncertain life in an uncertain time. Perhaps, if they had met in another time and another place, conventions would have made her think twice about the yearnings he filled her with. But there was no place in Lily’s life for convention. She approached lovemaking as she did everything else in life, with openness and vigor.

  She allowed Quint to undress her slowly, his hands lingering, his mouth searching, and with each touch she wanted him more, desired him until she wanted to scream. She didn’t fully understand what was driving her to a fever pitch, but she didn’t question it either, didn’t deny any of her urges.

  Lily undressed Quint with the same deliberate slowness he had shown her. Her fingers danced over the crisp, dark curls on his chest, and even over the silken steel of his arousal that proved how much he wanted her. He was amazingly beautiful, with his hard muscles and dark skin. Her fingers found the scar on his leg, the wound that caused his limp. She didn’t question him about the lie he had told, but caressed the recent scar with tenderness.

  Quint led her to the small bed, taking small steps and touching her lovingly. He lowered his head and kissed her breasts, taking an aching nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly, pushing her beyond reason. Lily didn’t try to hide from him, or cower, or douse the light. She was as curious about him as he was about her, and found no place for shame or timidity.

  His hands ran over her thighs, fingers lightly kneading the muscles there, and when he touched her between her thighs, there where she was feeling the building pressure that threatened to consume her, she arched against him and moaned into his chest.

  Lily lowered her head to the flat pillow and drew Quint to her, wanting to feel his weight on her, knowing now why she had shivered every time he looked at her. Every moment had been leading to this.

  His chest pressing against hers was heavenly, his warmth surrounding her like a safe cocoon. She parted her thighs and felt him resting between them, testing, pressing against her throbbing warmth.

  Lily wrapped her legs around Quint’s thighs, drawing him closer, drawing him inside her. There was a brief burning sensation, a moment of pain, when he finally entered her, and he smothered her surprised cry with tender kisses.

  “No more pain,” he whispered huskily. He lay very still until her tension subsided, and then he moved slowly, withdrawing and then plunging deep again, bringing her to a state of fiery turbulence as he rocked his hips against her. Lily lifted her hips as Quint thrust into her, impossibly deeper than before, and she pressed her body against his as an explosion racked her. She felt him join her, as he covered her mouth with his and joined with her in a way she had never before believed possible.

  They rolled onto their sides, and Lily buried her head against Quint’s shoulder. Never had she dreamed that the fluttering in her belly when she looked at him could lead to this. It was a true wonder.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered, holding her close. She could hear the regret in his voice. “I didn’t know it was your first time.”

  Lily kissed his shoulder. “Still thinking of me as the Captain’s mistress? Never mind. The pain was gone quickly, and the rest was beautiful.”

  Quint smiled. She was so open and uninhibited. That was why he hadn’t thought she was a virgin… she showed no fear, no hesitation. He wanted to make love to her all night long, then wake with her in his arms. And not just for one night. He wanted to love Lily for the rest of his life. It was a jarring thought. There were obstacles to be thought of.

  He ran his hands over her arms. This was no soft and fragile girl. Her upper arms were smooth, but with the strength of a taut muscle beneath. Her skin was like silk, smooth and strong. But Lily was strong because she was a sailor, and that would never do.

  “You have to give this up,” Quint whispered seriously, and Lily lifted her head.

  Tousled, curling hair framed her face, covering one eye completely. “Give what up?”

  “No wife of mine…. ” The words were out of his mouth before he gave them much thought, but he liked the sound of them and smiled crookedly.

  Lily leaned over and kissed his dimple. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she murmured softly, and she drew away slightly as she looked into his face. “I don’t remember saying that I would marry you. In fact, I don’t even remember you asking.”

  Quint scowled. “All right. I’m asking.”

  “No,” Lily said sweetly, and then she kissed him again.

  Quint propped himself up on one elbow and frowned at her. “What do you mean, no?”

  The narrow bed sagged in the middle, bringing them together as they lay side by side, face to face. Quint didn’t mind, and Lily didn’t seem to, either, as she ran her fingers across his chest. “Not yet, anyway. I’m not giving up the Chameleon. Not now.”

  “Why? Why is it so damned important?” Quint asked softly. “What can be more important than the fact that I love you, and you love me?”

  Lily smiled and kissed him again. She brushed the hair away from her face, and when she looked into his eyes there was a mischievous twinkle in her own. “So, you finally say it again.”

  “Again?”

  “The last time you told me that you love me, you were pretty much pickled. Besides, I didn’t say that I love you,” she teased.

  His own smile faded. He didn’t want to hear that, even with a teasing lilt in her voice. She saw that and laid her hand over his heart.

  “But I do.”

  “Say it,” he ordered gently.

  “I love you, Quintin Tyler,” Lily said seriously. “I can’t believe that this has happened so fast—that you’re suddenly a part of my life that I can’t do without.”

  “Then give this up and marry me.”

  Lily sighed and laid her head against his chest, so he couldn’t see her twinkling eyes or her freckles. “I can’t.”

  She explained it to him. Her father’s death, her b
rother’s decision to run away. The Yankee captain she hated with all her heart. He could hear the pain in her voice as she relived that day for him. So he would understand.

  He was thankful she couldn’t see his face as he died a little death. If her passion was driven by revenge, she would never forgive him when she found out he was a spy for the Union. Never. And he wouldn’t lie to her. Not about that.

  When they returned to Nassau, he would go to Eleanor Slocum and quit. Then he would confide in Lily about everything. Maybe she would forgive him. Maybe not. He was afraid when he heard the hate in her voice as she talked about the Yankees who had invaded her home and killed her father.

  He was deluding himself. She would never forgive what he had done. What he was. And he could never desert the cause that had driven him away from his family and his home. Not even for Lily.

  Lily sighed and placed her palm tenderly against the scar on his thigh. “This scar is not from a fall from a horse,” she admonished with a whisper.

  Quint shook his head. “No. I was shot.”

  “By who?” Lily lifted her head again, her eyes trusting and questioning.

  “A scorned woman.” He gathered her into his arms and held her tight. “Thank God her aim was off.”

  “Thank God,” Lily agreed, and then she kissed the bump on his nose. “And this?”

  “Same woman. Pounded me right on the nose with an incredibly heavy reticule.” Quint’s voice was light, and his hands were wandering over Lily’s warm body again. Already he wanted to bury himself in her, body and soul.

  “Am I supposed to believe that?” Lily whispered half-heartedly, holding her lips a heartbeat away from his own.

  “No,” Quint said as he rolled over her again. There would be time later for the truth, all of the ugly truth. But for now there were just the two of them and the rocking of the powerful ship, and that was enough.

  It was all he had.

  Thirteen

  Lily did not remain in the cabin as long as Quint would have liked. She devoted herself to the running of the Chameleon, but made the best of the hours she stole, slipping into the narrow cot with him in the middle of the night; waking him with warm lips and curious hands. And when Quint woke in the morning, she was gone again.