Prize of My Heart

by Lisa Norato

  As the sailors dispersed to obey orders, he turned to Lorena with a twinkle in his china blue eyes. “And now, Miss Huntley, if you would care to accompany us, a surprise awaits you in your cabin. Is that not right, Drew?”

  He hoisted the boy in the air, tossing him playfully while Drew squealed with joy and, through his giggles, answered, “Yeeeeeeessss!”

  It was a heartwarming exchange that had Lorena recalling all over again the curious affinity for the boy Brogan had displayed from the first. Memories returned of Brogan’s upset when she’d removed Drew from the supper table to put him to bed, the way Brogan had praised Drew’s skill with a sling even though the weapon had been turned on him, and how subsequently Brogan made certain to include Drew in their plans anytime he came calling for her.

  And now, in her absence, the pair seemed to have grown closer still.

  How was it so? That an unfettered, childless, widower captain, who’d spent these past few years at sea embroiled in war, showed remarkable tenderness for a boy he barely knew?

  What bond had forged between them during the course of their short voyage? It was as if they shared something to which Lorena was not privy. A connection she could not define.

  “Lead the way, then, young sailor,” Brogan charged as he set Drew back on his feet.

  “Come, Lorena,” the child urged, pulling her aft toward the quarter gallery. “Come see.”

  Hand in hand they walked, taking care to keep from getting underfoot of the crew. Drew smiled confidently as he led her about, drawing her attention to particular points of interest. Everywhere seamen moved about the ship. Those sailors who did not have their feet planted firmly on deck hung from a confusion of rigging and sails.

  Brogan followed close behind, though at the midship bulkhead he stepped forward to open a door.

  Lorena knew well the ship’s plan, but allowed Drew to guide her down a corridor into the great cabin. Here was the grand seagoing parlor just as she remembered, paneled in mahogany and trimmed with the yellowish luster of satinwood. The difference now being the fully furnished compartment, seeing those articles that had been either purchased or commissioned during the weeks the Yankee Heart was being rigged placed in their rightful home, transforming the once cavernous cabin into a comfortable living space as fine as any house built on New England soil.

  Lorena skimmed a fingertip across the large mahogany dining table. Damask curtains of willow green dressed the stern windows with matching cushions on the window seats. Daylight reflected off the fresh white paint of the ceiling and the silver lanterns hanging from its beams. There was also a settee and matching wing chairs.

  Lorena curled her toes inside her slippers, pressing them deeper into the Brussels carpet. “It’s all so lovely.”

  “I could not have expected less.” Brogan’s gaze followed hers around the cabin, the corners of his lips crooked slightly upward in pride. “If you recall, it was you, Lorena, who helped me choose these fabrics and several of the furnishings.”

  “How satisfying a surprise to find them all looking so well together. I believe I shall enjoy this cruise very much.”

  “This isn’t your surprise,” Drew said with a giggle as though she were quite silly.

  “It is not? What else could there be?” Sifting her fingers through the boy’s pale curls, she glanced down at his sweet face with a raised brow. “Truthfully, sweetheart, I do not think anything could make me happier than I feel right now.” In a matter of hours she had gone from despair to a contentment her heart could barely contain.

  “Step this way and we’ll show you,” Brogan said, directing her portside to a closed cabin door.

  But Lorena’s curiosity was already drawing her to the opposite end of the suite, where ledgers, charts, a divider, and parallel ruler lay sprawled across a large writing table. An old desk held journals and accounts with rolled documents stored carefully inside each pigeonhole. As she moved closer, Lorena inspected a small bookcase. One well-used book in particular caught her eye on a shelf of its own. Thin leather strips wrapped around its worn nut-brown casing, holding the pages together.

  “This book. Is this—?”

  Brogan grabbed her wrist before she could touch it. This surprised her, for she hadn’t realized he’d been standing so close behind. “Drew has been waiting patiently to show you to your cabin,” he said.

  Lorena saw eagerness in the boy’s wide-eyed expression and offered him her hand, the book forgotten. “Of course. Show me your surprise.”

  Drew led her back to the closed cabin door. With a turn of the latch she opened it to reveal a modest stateroom as luxuriously built as the great cabin but decidedly feminine in décor.

  Decidedly familiar also.

  Lorena spun about and sat on the bed with a bounce. She ran her hands over the blue-and-white-diamond coverlet. “This is from my own bed in Duxboro.” Gaily wrapped packages lay across her pillow, but her gaze did not linger, as there was much to see. The cabin held many of her own personal items, from her grandmother’s framed sampler on the wall to the rug beneath her feet.

  “And those draperies on the porthole there, I believe they are sewn from the very same silk brocade Mrs. Culliford helped me select with the purpose of making pillows for the settee in my room. And here is my trunk, I see.” She leapt off the bed to look inside and found it filled with her clothes and slippers, the book she’d been reading before her unfortunate departure, and her needlework and embroidery basket.

  “I feel so at home. But that, I suspect, was the whole intent, was it not?” It was more statement than question. Still, Lorena directed those words to Brogan, who remained standing at the threshold as though he preferred observing from a distance.

  She offered him a grateful smile, then bending down scooped Drew into her arms. Brushing the curls from his face, she pressed a kiss to his temple. “As miserable a time as I had, knowing I was sailing away from home, we are now going to have the most wonderful adventure returning together.”

  He nodded, then wriggled from her embrace to climb on the bed. “Open your gifts!”

  “They’re from your family,” Brogan said. Lorena sensed a sudden reserve in his tone and bearing, in stark contradiction to Drew, who quaked with excitement.

  The child presented her with a small painted tin. “This is from me.”

  Lorena seated herself beside him as they conspired to open first the lid and next a layer of tissue paper. They peered inside together, heads touching.

  She made certain to gasp with delight. “Maple sugar fudge. Thank you, sweetheart, you thoughtful boy. How long you must have been waiting for me to open it, when we both know how well you enjoy candy. Shall we celebrate with a piece before supper?”

  His enthusiastic nod was answer enough. Drew reached into the tin with one hand and then the other.

  Lorena then offered the tin to Brogan. “I know you won’t mind, Brogan. You and Drew are two of a kind in that you both share a taste for sweets.”

  He surprised her by refusing with a shake of his head. Moments ago he’d endeavored to make her welcome merry, and now that she was indeed bursting with gaiety, he seemed to have gone strangely pensive.

  Lorena puzzled over him, then selected a piece of fudge for herself and bit into it.

  Drew handed her one package after another. There was a small painted fan from her father, a pair of white silk stockings embellished with embroidery from Mrs. Culliford, and a shell comb from Temperance. Lorena skimmed their notes, preferring to read them in private later when the day’s excitement did not have her thoughts so distracted.

  One very small gift remained. It bore no note.

  Drew dropped it into her palm.

  Lorena loosed the ribbon and peeled back the paper. A shiny silver thimble shone up at her. She held it up and saw that it was etched with tiny hearts and cupids.

  She knew immediately whom it was from and scooted off the bed, before thoughts of propriety or self-consciousness dissuaded her, and
stood openly before Brogan with affection shining in her eyes. “Thank you.” Two simple words, but in her heart they meant so much more, words she could not express. “I will cherish it always.”

  As she gazed into those intense blue eyes, what shone back awakened her soul. Burning like a flame, a reflection of her own passionate feelings, a surrender, a humbleness that for a moment allowed her to peer into the heart of his being. And what she saw was a man haunted by pain and guilt.

  It seemed he wished to tell her something, but whatever Brogan’s thoughts, he chose to keep them hidden as she watched him withdraw into himself.

  “George said some awful things about me,” she said. “He spoke in anger. I want you to know they aren’t true in the least.”

  All vulnerability in his expression disappeared. He gave her no more response than a nod. Lorena presently was feeling too weary and uncertain to push him further.

  “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll have you called to supper.”

  He spoke as though relations between them were proper and formal. Lorena suspected not. She suspected their guards had been lowered in the realization they shared more in common than either of them could have imagined. Perhaps much of it had to do with their mutual affection for Drew, but during their short time apart, feelings of friendship and attraction had grown into a deeper respect and caring.

  Brogan paced his quarterdeck and stood facing the sea. His throat constricted, strangled by the emotion rising inside him. Emotion Brogan did not comprehend. He’d succeeded in his mission. Lorena was safely aboard the Yankee Heart. He’d been wrong to believe she’d ever willingly flee with Louder. There’d been no love for the shipwright in her eyes, nor even sympathy. Brogan never believed Louder’s lie about having Lorena, not unless the weasel had forced himself on her, and Lorena’s spirits were too high for a woman who had undergone such an ordeal.

  No, what bothered Brogan was that within a short period of being reunited with her, Lorena had managed to touch something inside him he’d thought long dead. A frozen place in his heart was melting, leaving him vulnerable in a way he strove never to be again.

  It frightened him in a respect, thinking from force of habit that he might be punished for allowing such tenderness to affect him, and yet Brogan had no idea exactly what he was feeling that made him afraid.

  13

  Behind the drawn draperies, lantern light cast quivering shadows throughout the great cabin.

  “Who would care to give the blessing?” Lorena asked. She glanced expectantly around the supper table.

  Brogan nodded to Jabez. It was the mate’s habit to give thanks, because if left up to Brogan there’d be no prayer. Yet before Jabez could begin, Drew announced, “I should like to say it.”

  Brogan made quick note of Lorena’s proud smile. No mother had looked more adoringly upon her son and certainly not Drew’s natural birth mother.

  “By all means,” he said, experiencing a tightening in his chest as he clasped his hands with those of Lorena on his right and Drew on his left.

  “Almighty Father,” the lad called in his clear, sweet voice. “We come before you with grateful hearts for bringing Lorena back. I especially give my thanks. Please let her not be taken from me again. And everyone else here does feel the same. Show your favor to Captain Talvis and Mr. Smith and the ship and the crew and may they always remain under your care. Amen.”

  Jabez cleared his throat and Drew opened his eyes. The mate smiled approvingly, then nodded to the repast set before them.

  “Oh! And thank you for this food,” Drew added.

  Here sat the folk who mattered most to him, Brogan reflected. The closest he’d known to a family meal, including any he’d shared with Abigail during their married life. He gripped the hands he held that much tighter before releasing them. “Amen,” he said.

  “That was wonderful, sweetheart,” praised Lorena.

  Brogan gave the lad a wink before contemplating his bowl of creamy chowder. He dipped in his spoon and brought a sample to his lips, first inhaling the scent of bacon before actually tasting the corn chowder. He let the flavor settle on his tongue before swallowing. Made from a lobster base, the corn was sweet and the potatoes hardy. It was delicious, and yet …

  “Warrick,” he called to his young steward now setting before him a serving platter of golden-brown fish cakes. Brogan gave them a queer eye. “I’m curious as to our cook’s choice of dishes. I specifically told Mr. Mott to prepare a meal with the best of our provisions. We are celebrating Miss Huntley’s safe return, and he sees fit to serve us the fare of a public supper?”

  “I see exactly what the dear fellow has done.” Lorena beheld the platter of fried fish cakes with an expression of shining delight. “As wholesome a meal as this likely appears, these dishes are among my favorites. Fred Mott has obviously prepared them in my honor.”

  “And there is bread pudding for dessert, miss,” Warrick added.

  “Bread pudding? I do love bread pudding. Did you hear that, Drew?”

  The boy nodded excitedly as his mouth was full, and while he chewed, a bit of mushy potato escaped the corner of his mouth.

  “I see I’m not the only one who enjoys a public supper. And what have you to say, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “You seem to be enjoying the chowder and cakes.”

  “Aye, miss. You’ll hear no complaint from me.”

  Brogan’s attention was drawn to her long, slender hands as Lorena lifted the teapot and began to pour Jabez’s tea and then a cup for herself.

  She had changed into a pretty pink calico frock with large puffed sleeves that tapered in from elbow to wrist. A wide, ruffle-edged satin ribbon cinched her high at the waist. The modest, straight neckline covered her collarbone yet disclosed the lovely curve of her long white throat as it met her shoulders. It was there that the lanterns’ quivering light played on the paleness of her skin.

  “And you, Brogan, as a man who admittedly prefers the simplicity of gingerbread, you can’t deny Fred Mott’s Yankee fare makes for a satisfying meal. And yet you scowl. Are you displeased?” She offered him a cup of tea.

  As he reached to accept, his fingertips brushed hers. They both held the saucer, yet neither took full possession.

  No longer could Brogan dismiss his feelings for her as mere regard for her delicate beauty. His heart betrayed him, harboring affection for a woman who had fouled up his plans. What part had she played in the taking of his son? What knowledge did she hide? He still did not know.

  “I find the chowder very tasty.” He accepted the teacup and sought to hide his woolgathering by reaching for the fish cakes. As he ate, he glanced up, surprised to find Lorena observing him.

  “Drew tells me you and Mr. Smith share tales of your travels at dinnertime, and that the stories are even more exciting to him than the exploits of Captain Briggs. Imagine my surprise to hear it. I did not think anyone could rise above Captain Briggs in Drew’s esteem … in any regard.”

  Her tone held a challenge, her eyes mild curiosity as though she insisted upon an explanation.

  Brogan swallowed, then followed her gaze to the cloth sea captain lying idle on the table beside Drew. Instead of falling into whispers with his doll, inventing his own stories, as Brogan learned was common of Drew at mealtimes, the lad now took animated interest in the dinner table conversation.

  Even now, Drew followed their exchange. He set down his tumbler of milk, licking his upper lip. “Are we going to hear a story?”

  “Aye, I believe it is indeed time for a story.” Brogan leaned toward Lorena. “Mr. Smith and I have many stories, but this evening no one has a more interesting tale than you. So tell us, Lorena, for we’ve wondered, what turn of events led you to be shipbound for England with George Louder?”

  She cleared her palate with a sip of tea and then swallowed uncomfortably.

  She stalled and Brogan had to wonder why. “Now that you are on my ship, I feel an even greater responsibility for your welfare, a sense of duty sep
arate and apart from my command of this vessel.” What he felt was fierce protectiveness, similar to his feelings for Drew and far stronger even than any emotion he’d felt for his late wife. “You claim you were not injured, and to my eyes you do not seem to have been. Still, I understand you have been through a trial, and I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you sit here in good spirits. Therefore, I believe we deserve an explanation. So, tell us. What happened to prevent you from disembarking the Lady Julia?”

  “Be warned. You are not going to like what I have to say,” she mumbled into her teacup before carefully returning it to its saucer. She stole a warning glance at Drew before meeting Brogan’s gaze.

  “Let me start by explaining that George and I became friends when we were both children. But as we grew older, his priorities changed to follow wealth and success, whereas mine remained with home and family. When he made his decision to depart to England in search of his fortune, he asked me to marry him. I refused as gently as I could. He grew most insistent, and recently I thought he had at last accepted that I did not have the love of a wife to give him. We agreed to part as the friends we had always been. To that end I baked his favorite mince pies for the trip and invited him to tea in the summer kitchen before seeing him off to Plymouth. Little did I know, he never had any intention of taking no for an answer. He somehow slipped a vomit powder into my tea.”

  “Vomit powder?” Outrage on her behalf boiled inside Brogan. He felt it hot and urgent, the way he’d felt the injustice of England’s tyranny or Abigail’s deceit. “Louder poisoned—”

  “I accused him of the exact same, yes,” Lorena commented with a finality that warned Brogan against further interruption and pointedly put a halt to his rising anger. She continued in a composed voice. “As the powder was beginning to take effect, George deceived me into believing Drew had boarded the Lady Julia. We took off in search of him. While looking in the hold, I became violently ill and hit my head. I could not distinguish my own dizziness from the movement of the brig, and in either case I was too sick to move. By the time I was found, taken to a stateroom, and revived, we were well out to sea.”