Wild Lord Taggart

by Tammy Jo Burns

  Circe could still feel Lord Taggart’s gaze on her back. She refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence. Oh, but he was too handsome for his own good. Spending the night with him in his bed or any other place he wanted would be oh so tempting, but she would not reject her own scruples even for the likes of Reese Taggart. Her scruples were why she was on this ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

  Her mother had been aghast and hurt when she had told her parents that she refused to live with a man, in sin, as her mother did, regardless of how much she loved him. She had then tried to explain her feelings to her mother and father. Her father had understood, for he had spent the last twenty-seven years attempting to convince her mother to marry him. It was her mother who was the obstinate one in that particular relationship, claiming it was not right to tie people to one another by a piece of paper, whether they be servant or spouse.

  “Oh, Mama, why can you not be like normal mothers and want to see me married off to a wealthy man?” She let her head drop as the conversation replayed itself in her mind as if it were happening all over again.

  “Mama, Papa, I need to speak to the both of you,” Circe had announced one night after their evening meal.

  “Oh?” Papa asked. He had looked at her curiously, almost sensing their little world was about to be upset.

  “I cannot continue to live here.”

  “Of course you can, princess. You’re our daughter.”

  “I am about to be twenty-five years old. I want my own house, my own family.”

  “All right,” Mama had said.

  “Mama, I want a conventional family. I want a marriage before I have my children.”

  “But I chose this life for you, so you wouldn’t have to abide by society’s dictates.”

  “No, Mama, you did it so you would not have to abide by society’s dictates. You did it because you knew it would anger Grandmother and Grandfather. You did it for any number of reasons, but you did not do it for me. I love you so much, both of you, but you must realize no man will look at me other than as a possible mistress because that is what they consider you to be to Papa.”

  “Phillip, tell her that’s a lie.”

  “I wish I could, Bethy, but I can’t. I hear it every time I go to London. Why do you think we stay here more and more?” he asked, referring to their country estate.

  Anger and hurt forced her mother to leave the room. Circe had felt horribly guilty, but knew she had to do this for herself.

  “Papa, I did not mean to hurt Mama.”

  “I know, princess. Your Mama is a special woman and has her beliefs which is why I love her so much. Perhaps someday I’ll convince her to marry me. So, what is your plan?”

  Her father knew her well. She never took him a problem unless she had a solution in place.

  “Send me to Uncle Robert.” Her father noticeably paled at the words. “I know Barbados is an ocean away. I know there are dangers to be had, but hopefully fewer people know of your and Mama’s situation there than in London. Perhaps Uncle Robert can introduce me to some nice gentlemen there.”

  “I don’t know that I can let my little girl go all that way alone. Perhaps your mother and I should accompany you.”

  “No, that would defeat the purpose. Please, Papa.”

  “Let me think about it. I’ll give you an answer by the end of the week. All right?”

  “Thank you, Papa,” she said. Circe crossed the room and embraced her father who now stood. He was tall and distinguished with pepper gray hair and sapphire blue eyes, much like her own. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too, princess.”

  “I love Mama, too.”

  “I know,” a husky feminine voice said from the doorway.

  Circe looked up to see her mother standing there, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Mama,” she said, holding out an arm to include her. This is what Circe would miss going to Barbados, the open love and affection her parents showed her and one another.

  She lifted her head and looked at the horizon and realized tears were running down her cheeks. How many times over the past week or so had she wished her mother and father had accompanied her? They are not here, nor are they going to just appear out of thin air at a moment’s notice. You have only yourself to rely on now, she reminded herself. Her mother had raised her to rely on no one but herself, and that is exactly what she would do. In the process, hopefully, she would find herself a husband.

  Chapter 3

  Several weeks later, Circe found her way on deck once more. Since she had experienced freedom, she found she craved it even though she fought it with every fiber of her being. Every night she left her window open and listened to the ship cutting through the water wishing she were enjoying the ocean breeze once more. Instead, when the sun rose every morning, she forced herself to remain below instead of going up on deck.

  She stayed in her cabin for several reasons. The first being that she did not want to distract Captain Adams or the sailors from doing their jobs. She wanted to arrive at her destination safely and knew a woman’s presence could be a detriment. The second reason she stayed sequestered in her room was Reese Taggart. She needed to stay far away from him, and the best way to do that would be to remain in her quarters.

  Today, however, Circe desperately felt the urge to escape. She felt like she had been buried alive and needed to do something about it, or she was going to go mad. As soon as the sun had risen, she dressed and snuck out on deck. She had successfully avoided Captain Adams and the majority of the sailors and currently sat, hidden, or so she thought, in a small rowboat, reading. The wind whipped at the pages of the book and tore at her hair, but she valiantly fought it and found herself quite engrossed in the story.

  “Captain Adams knows you’re here.”

  Circe jumped and tossed her book in the air. She watched in horror as it flew over the rail of the ship. Then she watched in equal fascination as Lord Taggart grabbed hold of a rope, jumped on the rail, and leaned as far as he could over the water. He batted the book back towards the ship and it landed with a plop on the deck. Circe scrambled out of the rowboat and rushed to pick it up, quickly skimming and caressing the pages to make certain they were not damaged.

  “Is it still in one piece?”

  She was fastidiously smoothing out several pages when the voice over her shoulder made her jump once more. This time, she clutched the book to her chest. “Yes, but I am not certain whether to thank you or scold you.”

  “I did save it.”

  “If you had not snuck up on me, I would not have nearly thrown it into the ocean.”

  “You would have heard me if you weren’t so preoccupied with what you were reading.”

  “Pardon me if I enjoy that particular past-time.”

  “What are you reading?”

  “The Mysteries of Udolpho, if you must know.”

  “Ah, a dark, romantic story.”

  “And your point would be?”

  “I didn’t come out here to argue with you, Miss Hayhurst.”

  “Then why did you come out here, Lord Taggart?” Circe demanded.

  “Captain Adams asked me to escort you back to your cabin. He’s under the impression that we may be headed into another storm.”

  Circe’s head whirled around and she saw an ugly bank of dark blue clouds in the distance with lightning streaks illuminating them. A sudden gale blew so hard that she lost her balance and found herself leaning heavily against Lord Taggart. His strong arms wrapped protectively around her. She rested against him a moment until she realized what she was doing. She pushed away from him and straightened.

  “I will go below when I feel it is too dangerous to be up here,” she shouted to be heard above the suddenly snapping sails, refusing to follow his dictates even if he was only acting on Captain Adams’ orders. She studied him standing there, the wind whipping about him, his shirt flapping like a flag, and his hair flew about his head like a halo. Circe found herself mesmerized. H
er fingers itched to tame his wayward locks. All he needed was an eye patch and he would look like a pirate scouring the seas for treasure. She shook her head and looked up in time to see a boom shifting towards them at a high rate of speed. “Look out!” she yelled and launched herself towards the large man, but instead of successfully knocking him out of the way, she bounced off him and crumpled to the deck, her book still protectively clutched to her chest. She had no warning as his large body followed her and landed on top of her.

  “Ooof,” she said as the wind was knocked out of her. She took gasping breaths as she tried to refill her lungs with much needed air. “Get…get…off…me,” she gasped.

  There was no answer and no movement.

  “Lord Taggart?” she yelled to be heard over the wind that was picking up. Nothing. Circe pushed upward with all of her might and wiggled free of Lord Taggart’s large frame. “Lord Taggart, I hardly find this game you are playing humorous.” She sat up and looked down at the man still sprawled on his stomach, his face turned towards her. It was relaxed as if he were simply asleep.

  She struggled to her feet and looked out at the water. It had begun to churn like a pot of water beginning to boil. The clouds raced towards them, or were they racing towards the clouds? She looked behind her to see the crew scrambling to tighten moorings and shift the sails so they were going into the storm. They had to run perpendicular to the waves, because if they ran parallel to them they risked capsizing and sinking.

  “Lord Taggart, it is time you stopped this act,” she said as she pushed at him with her foot. He gave no response. “Lord Taggart.” She dropped to her knees by his side. “Lord Taggart?” Circe noticed a bloody spot on the back of his head. “Oh, dear,” she said. A spray of saltwater splashed them. She hunched over to protect her book. Circe looked around the deck, searching for someone who could help her, but everyone was busy.

  She also reminded herself that this was a working vessel, not a passenger ship, therefore, there were no other passengers she could seek out for assistance. Circe was not certain what her father had paid Captain Adams to take her on, but she knew it must have been a great deal, and she loved her father for that sacrifice. Circe worried her lower lip as another spray of saltwater doused them. She knew she could become engrossed in her novels, but to miss the signs of this storm brewing… She shook her head at herself in frustration.

  “Lord Taggart, this is all your fault!” she yelled at him. “If you hadn’t been ogling me…oh, never mind,” she finished in frustration. She pulled the waist of his breeches away from his body and stuffed her book between his breeches and his back. She tugged at his shirt until it hung over her book, protecting it from the elements, then she rolled him over. He moaned when his head made contact with the deck, and she winced in sympathy.

  Circe removed her gloves and left them on the deck, not particularly caring what happened to them since she had several pair and could always purchase more once they reached Barbados. She slapped Reese’s whisker-covered cheeks until she saw him respond. When he moaned and his eyelids fluttered open, she maneuvered him to a sitting position.

  “Come, my lord, we must get you below deck.”

  “Wha…what?” he muttered dazedly. His words could barely be heard over the wailing of the wind.

  “You have had an accident!” she yelled to be heard. “I will help you!”

  When it looked as if he would struggle to get to his feet alone, Circe quickly scrambled to hers and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to help him stand. He managed to get to his feet, with her assistance and took a frightening run at the rail. She ran after him and grabbed his shirt, but when she saw he was going to be sick she let him continue. She knew being physically ill with a head injury such as his was not a good sign.

  “Better?” she asked when he finished heaving.

  “Some,” he replied hoarsely.

  “Wrap an arm around me. We are going to have to try this in one charge across the deck. All right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ready?”

  “No. Wait for…the waves.”

  “What?”

  “The waves,” he said. “Let the…pitching…of the deck…help us,” he managed to say.

  She nodded her head in agreement. She watched the waves and the bow of the ship. “Ready… Go!” Together the two of them stumbled across the deck, looking like two drunken sailors as they weaved to the hatch that led to their cabins. She fought with the hatch’s door, but it seemed to be stuck.

  “Move,” Lord Taggart ordered.

  She stepped aside and was impressed that, even in his weakened condition, he was able to easily open the door. She slipped down the stairs and waited for him to join her in the narrow hallway. He kept moving when she entered her room.

  “Where do you think you are going?”

  “My room,” he said.

  “You are not. You have been injured. Someone needs to monitor you. It does not bode well that you were ill so soon after your injury.”

  “Are you volunteering for the job?”

  “I see no one else available. Now, kindly come in here.”

  “What are your qualifications?”

  “My mother has studied medicine, if you must know.”

  “Illegally? How?”

  “Lord Taggart, you lived in England. You know as well as I do that if you have enough money, you can do anything you wish. Now, I insist you follow me.”

  “If you insist. I believe this is yours.” He tugged the book free and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, not meeting his amused gaze.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Sit and let me look at your wound.”

  He sat on a stool affixed to the floor. Circe poured some water onto a piece of cloth and approached him.

  “This might hurt.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  She moved behind him and parted his hair to reveal a bloody gash. She clucked her tongue in a motherly fashion. “It needs stitches, but I am not about to try that with this ship pitching such as it is.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “I’m going to clean it as best I can for the time being. I will do my best not to hurt you.”

  “Just get on with it,” he gritted from between his clenched teeth.

  She worked quickly and methodically and was done sooner than expected. “It does not look as bad now that it is clean. How do you feel?”

  “Like I’m going to be ill again.”

  “Here.” She shoved a bucket at him just before he cast up his accounts once more. Him being sick earlier had not affected her, but here, in close quarters, she felt her own stomach churn sickeningly. Whether in sympathy or from the storm, she was not certain, nor did she take the time to dissect it. She knew it was going to be a matter of moments before she, too, was ill.

  She frantically searched the room, and ended up dragging out the emptied chamber pot close to her just in time. Circe crouched on the floor, on all fours, wretching with every roll of the ship. She felt she ought to feel embarrassed, but was too ill to feel anything at the moment. She heaved until there was nothing left and then she heaved some more. Finally, when her stomach stopped twisting itself into knots, she managed to sit and lean back against the bed.

  “Are you alive?” Reese asked her.

  “I sincerely hope not. You?”

  “The same.”

  “I swear I am never getting on a ship again.”

  “Are you never returning to England?”

  “Ugh,” she groaned. “Maybe I will forget how miserable I am.”

  “Perhaps. There are two of you right now,” Reese said conversationally, “and they’re both beautiful.”

  “That is not good at all.”

  “I think it’s very good that you’re beautiful.”

  “No, you should not be seeing doubles.”

  “Do you have to argue about everything? Oh, I’m not feeling so good again.”

 
; “Bucket.” She watched him reach for it, but he kept missing it. Finally, she took pity on him, grabbed it, and shoved it at him. He wrapped his arms around it as if it were his best friend, and he had not seen it in a very long time.

  “I hate being sick,” he muttered before the spasms assailed him again.

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” she said before quickly following suit.

  * * *

  Circe was still sitting on the floor and Reese had joined her, finding it much too difficult to try to stay on the stool. Both were doing their best not to be ill again. Reese floated in and out of consciousness, which concerned Circe a great deal. Currently he was out. One of the sailors, an older man with gray whiskers that stuck out everywhere and hair to match, barged into Circe’s cabin. She had heard the other sailors call him Schmitty, and thought the name seemed very fitting. A sudden bolt of lightning illuminated the room and she yelped when she saw the knife raised above his head.

  “Cap’n sent me. Ye needs to get on the bed and fasten yerselves to it.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Worse. Me mates want to toss ye overboard to quiet Triton’s wrath.”

  “What?!”

  “They believe the two of ye t’ be bad luck for us, but especially ye. What with ye bein’ a woman and all. Never have we had a trip so mired with bad weather. Be lucky ye are the Cap’n talked them out of it or ye’d be out there adrift in the storm.”

  “Do you believe like the others?”

  “I’m here, ain’t I? None of the others would show their faces down here. They’d rather be flailed with a cat o’nine tails. We’ve spent enough time talkin’. No fires, no lights. Here’s a pack of food t’ get ye by.” He hung a bag of food and several skins of some type of liquid from a hook near enough to the bed that she would be able to reach it from the bunk.

  “Help me with him,” she nodded at Reese. The two of them worked together and got him onto the narrow bed. “I’ll take his bed.”

  “No. Best ye stay together. I’ll fasten ye in. Keep the knife close. If ye hear the ship breakin’ up, use it t’ free yerselves. This’ll act like a net and keep ye in place.” The old sailor took a length of rope and wove it in a pattern across the bed, going from cleat to cleat.