by Jo Goodman
Rhys touched Kenna’s forehead, brushing back a wayward curl that had fallen over her brow. She moved restlessly beside him, tossing and turning, finding no comfort in any position. Rhys wrung out the damp cloth he had in the basin on his right and bathed her perspiring face.
Kenna had come out of the faint shortly after Rhys had put her in bed. She was so pale and appeared so vulnerable that he hadn’t the heart to upbraid her for this latest escapade. She was safe, all of a piece, and it was enough for now. She fell asleep shortly after Rhys helped her strip off her wet clothes. He slipped in beside her and the Carasea rocked him to sleep with Kenna curled securely against him. When he shut his eyes he was certain a veritable tidal wave couldn’t wake him, but he hadn’t counted on Kenna clawing at his chest or kneeing him in the groin. Pain brought him sharply awake and his initial effort to rouse Kenna was unsuccessful. That was when he grabbed the basin and began bathing her face. Now he wondered if he should try to wake her again.
He touched her shoulder and said her name with gentle insistence. She said something but Rhys could neither make out the words nor be sure she was really responding to him.
“It’s a dream, Kenna. A dream.” He drew the cloth over her neck. “Wake up, darling.” Droplets of water trickled on her flushed cheeks, mixing with the tears that were squeezing out from under her closed lids. Rhys put the basin on the floor and dropped the cloth in it. He picked Kenna up and embraced her as she began to sob uncontrollably. Repeating her name in a soft litany, he rocked her in his arms.
Kenna’s sharp cry was muffled against Rhys’s damp shoulder. She opened her eyes, blinking several times to clear them. “Dear God,” she said hoarsely. “Oh, Rhys, it was awful.”
“Shh! It’s over. It was the dream, nothing more.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry I woke you. Did I scream?”
“Only at the end, just before you woke. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I think I must. Mayhap I can put it straight in my mind.”
“Here. Lie down.” Rhys shifted so Kenna could lie back. He stretched out at her side and propped himself on an elbow. Her nightgown had rucked up about her thighs and Rhys smoothed it, then tucked a blanket about both of them. “Better?”
“Mm. I can hardly think how to begin.”
“Wherever you like.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it for assurance.
Kenna smiled faintly. “It began differently this time. I was in the gallery.”
“What were you doing there?”
“In most of the dreams I am waiting for Yvonne. She is still at the masque, you see, and I hide in there until there is an opportunity to get her out of the ballroom. Only this time it was different. I wasn’t dressed as a highwayman, but as Cleopatra, and I was waiting for you, not my sister. The Cleopatra disguise is easy enough to explain. It’s how I intended to dress before I coerced Yvonne into the tower room. Neither of us was permitted to attend the masque after that.”
“Understandable. But when you decided to disobey your father, you didn’t wear Cleo. When we found you in the cavern you had on the highwayman guise.”
“Yes, I know.” She hesitated, trying to find the words to explain what she thought had happened in her dream. “It is all very confusing, I know, but I wasn’t thirteen when the dream began. I think I was dressed as Cleopatra because I wanted to…to seduce you.”
“I see,” Rhys said slowly, the glimmer of a smile quivered on his lips. “And did you?”
“I think I started to,” she answered seriously. “You didn’t like the wig. You said my hair was too dark.” Self-consciously she touched her burnished curls. “This color must bother me more than I thought.”
Rhys was fascinated by the blend of reality and unreality in her dream though he didn’t have any clue as to what it meant or why it existed. “What happened then?”
“We kissed.”
“Ah,” he said wisely. “Then the wig did not concern me overmuch.”
Kenna gave his hand a little shake in reproof. “I was holding onto you very tightly. It was as if you were carved from stone. And then, without warning, you were stone, and I found myself in the cave. I wanted the dream to end then, for something told me it was a dream this time. But knowing did not help. I could not back away from the antechamber entrance. It was as if some force compelled me to go through the sequence of events again.”
Rhys heard a certain breathlessness enter her voice and she was beginning to rush her words. “Slowly, Kenna. Go through it with me now, but slowly. You can stop any time you wish. I won’t force you.”
Kenna felt her palms begin to sweat. “I was crouched against the wall, listening to the argument that was going on in the chamber. The two men from the boat…” She stopped. “You know about the boat, don’t you?”
“Yes. Nick told me that you swore a ship signaled from the channel and a pair of men rowed up on the beach.”
“That’s right. Their backs were to me and they partially hid you. I mean the man I thought was you,” she corrected quickly. “But I could see Victorine clearly enough. She was arguing with the Frenchmen, or perhaps pleading with them would explain it better.”
“Are you certain they were French?”
“As certain as I am about anything else, which is to say everything is open for interpretation.”
“Go on.”
“My father came then. Rhys, I never saw it happen this way before, but I swear my father walked through the chamber wall. I know it is too much to be believed but that’s what seemed to happen.” She laughed uneasily. “Why am I telling you this? It sounds more incredible when I hear it aloud.”
“Never mind,” he said. “Tell me what happened next.”
Kenna was slightly taken aback by the tenor of seriousness in Rhys’s voice. Even she did not credit her own memory on this count, yet Rhys was hanging on every word. “Well, he stepped into the chamber and the gap in the rock behind him simply disappeared. He ordered Victorine to come to his side and chastised her for putting any credence in the plans of her escort or those of the Frenchmen. I was frightened for my father then. The Frenchmen were agitated and Victorine was sobbing. I edged toward the entranceway, thinking that disguised as I was, I could help my father.”
“But he recognized you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Her breath caught on a harsh sob. “I cannot forget how he looked at me. There was so much grief in his eyes that I was paralyzed by the enormity of what I had done. I used to believe Victorine diverted his attention so the lantern light was knocked out, but I know it was me. Do you think this is what I don’t want to remember? That I am the one who killed my father?”
“Kenna! No! You’re wrong.” Rhys let go of her hand and cupped the side of her face, brushing away salty tears with the pad of his thumb. “You did not kill your father. Think back. You told me much the same thing the night I came to your bedchamber at Dunnelly. Remember? You mistook me for Nick on that occasion. There is something else you do not want to recall, something more painful perhaps than your father’s grief at seeing you in the cave.”
“I don’t know what it is, Rhys! I don’t!”
“Who is the man who stood at Victorine’s side, Kenna?”
“I don’t know,” she said miserably. She closed her eyes tightly and turned her head side to side in negation. “I can’t remember. The lantern goes out. It’s dark. So dark! I can’t see anything. If only it would stay lighted longer. I would see his face clearly. But I can’t see it now, Rhys. Don’t make me try to see it now.”
“All right. That’s enough.” He slid off his elbow and put his head next to hers. One arm embraced her shoulders and his even voice calmed her. “You don’t have to remember anything. I told you, you are safe here and I meant it. It’s all in the past.”
“Then why must I go on reliving it?” she asked. “I want in to be done.”
The only answer Rhys had was one she didn’t want to hear. He doubted she would ever be free of he
r nightmare until she knew with certainty who murdered her father. He wisely kept his counsel. A short time later her question was forgotten as she fell asleep in the security of his arms.
The pleasant, familiar aroma of coffee woke Kenna. She opened her eyes and saw Rhys sitting at the table, drinking from a steaming mug while he read the captain’s log book. Some movement she made must have caught his eye because he looked up and smiled at her. He raised the cup slightly.
“Would you like some? There’s plenty.”
“Please. It smells delicious.” She threw back the covers and went to the wardrobe to find her dressing gown. “I thought you would be on deck,” she said, tying her sash.
Rhys handed her a cup. “Careful, it’s hot.”
She sipped it gingerly and made a face. “I don’t think I shall get used to this. I much prefer tea.” She glanced out the window and saw that the sun had barely lifted above the horizon. The sky was as sharp as blue crystal and without a single cloud to bear evidence of last night’s storm. “I had no idea it was so early.”
Rhys laughed at Kenna’s wistful sidelong look at the bed. “Put it out of your mind. If you truly want to begin learning at my side, it starts at daybreak. You had only a few minutes more sleep left before I rolled you out of bed myself.”
“Brute. You would have done it, too. And no doubt taken pleasure in it.”
“I’m not about to deny it and have you call me a liar,” he said pleasantly. “I admit there would have been a certain amount of satisfaction in it after last night.”
Kenna paled as she lowered herself into a chair. “I’m sorry about the nightmare, Rhys, I couldn’t help—”
Rhys’s gray eyes widened in alarm. “Kenna! I wasn’t referring to your dream. Have I given you cause to think I would not let it rest?”
“No,” she said guiltily.
“Well then, what I was referring to was your presence on deck, or should I say, above deck?”
“Oh, that.”
“Oh, that,” he mocked. “That likely caused me to lose a score of years. What possessed you to do such a dangerous thing? And don’t tell me again that you fell out of bed. One event does not necessarily lead to the other.”
Her chin lifted a notch. “Of course one does not lead to the other,” she said loftily. “I am not such a foolish chit that I would climb that rigging because I fell out of bed. I was on deck because I fell out of bed. I was in the rigging because at the time there didn’t seem to be any choice but that I help.”
“I vow I am an old man, growing older by the second.” Rhys sighed, lifting his eyes heavenward above the rim of his coffee mug. “I may have understood that explanation ten or more years ago when a certain Miss Scrapegrace offered it so charmingly, but I believe time has addled my brain. More clearly, if you please. And more slowly.”
Kenna took a quick gulp of her coffee to brace herself for a full explanation, then had to fan her open mouth with her hand.
“I warned you it was hot.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Strive not to always be right. It could become frighteningly boring.”
“Point taken. Now your explanation, please.”
“Very well. I woke when I fell out of bed.”
Rhys feigned dismay, shaking his head. “That effectively puts a period to my sleepwalking theory.”
“Do you mind?” she asked frostily. “As I was trying to say, I was rather frightened when the ship’s rolling tumbled me out of bed. You were not here and I surmised, quite correctly I might add, that you had gone above to help the others in the storm. I did not feel at all comfortable waiting in my cabin while the wind tossed this ship around like so much driftwood, so I decided to find you. Thinking I might begin my education immediately I borrowed a few of your things to wear and went on deck. Before I had even the opportunity to look for you, not that I could see much in that rain, someone who plainly did not recognize me, ordered me to help secure the mainsail. I said no, Rhys. Honestly, I did. But who could hear me in that gale? I was practically dragged to the rigging and there was nothing for it but to begin climbing.”
Rhys’s jaw was working from side to side and his eyes were flinty. “I’ll have the man who forced you keelhauled.”
“I haven’t vaguest notion who it was,” she said. “And if I did, I wouldn’t say. He didn’t know who I was and he was only carrying out the captain’s orders. Anyway, keelhauling, whatever it is, sounds positively barbaric.”
“It is,” Rhys assured her with no remorse. “I may yet use it on you.”
“Well, that would be different, because I probably deserve it,” she pointed out calmly.
“Don’t tempt me. Carry on.”
“There is not much more to explain. I was fearful of disobeying because I didn’t know what would happen. For all I knew I might have been tossed overboard. I started up the rigging. Oh! That’s when I kicked off your shoes. Have they turned up?”
It occurred to Rhys that his patience might put him in the company of saints. “Someone found them and brought them here after I carried you to the cabin.”
“Imagine that. I can’t quite think how they weren’t washed away.”
“A bloody miracle,” he said wryly.
Kenna could not fail to miss the edge in his voice. She took a more cautious sip of her drink and continued quickly. “I think you know the rest. I climbed the rigging and helped the others secure the sail. I don’t mind telling you I was frightened and there is no need for you to forbid me to do it again because I’ve already made up my mind. Nothing could induce me to go up there a second time. I kept telling myself that I would prove I was no hothouse flower, that I was up to the task, but it was out of bounds really. And useless. My feet touched the ground and poof!” She spread her hands and fingers. “I wilted like a plucked daisy.”
Rhys doubted this was the moment to point out that a daisy hardly qualified as a hothouse flower. He fought down a smile. If she suspected how effectively she had disarmed him, he would forever be at her mercy. “Then this is the end of it,” he said.
“The end.”
“And I will never have to look overhead to find you.”
“Never.”
“And if I should find you in the rigging…”
“I know,” she said sagely. “Keel-hauling would be too good for me.”
“Exactly.” Rhys hesitated, thinking over his words carefully. “All things considered, it was a good piece of work.”
Her cheeks reddened a bit beneath his praise, knowing what it cost him to voice it. “Thank you.”
A genuine smile touched Rhys’s mouth and he eased back in his chair and relaxed. “Now, why don’t you finish your coffee, eat your breakfast, and dress? There are some papers and things in Johnson’s cabin that I want to share with you.”
During the weeks that followed Kenna proved herself to be more than an eager pupil. She was a bright and learned one as well. Rhys marveled at her quick grasp of figures and her ability to plot a course with unfailing accuracy. They shared every idea, every scheme, that would bring Canning Shipping back from financial disaster. With Captain Johnson’s knowledge of the type of ships remaining with the line, Kenna and Rhys planned the actions they needed to take. The problem loomed clear before them. They needed to raise capital by taking command of the quickest routes with the best profits.
A scant week before Carasea would dock in Boston Harbor Kenna was still mulling over their chief concern. The task was made difficult because Rhys was nibbling her neck and showed every sign that he was not going to content himself with only one portion of her anatomy.
Kenna was languishing in the copper tub, up to her shoulders in water scented with a few drops of perfume. The cabin was lighted by more than a dozen candles Rhys had set out on the table and Kenna was not insensitive to the effort he’d made. Some evenings they were so exhausted from their labors they simply fell into bed and were asleep before their heads touched the pillow they shared. Tonight was defini
tely not one of those evenings; not after nearly a week of abstinence when Rhys was considerate of the embarrassment she felt because of her monthly courses. “I thought you were going to wash my back,” she said. Dipping her fingers in the warm water, she flicked a few drops backward and hoped they met her target.
“I thought that’s what I was doing,” he whispered against her ear. The light from the candles flickered across the strands of red-gold hair. Rhys never admitted how happy he was to see the last of the mahogany dye wash away.
“Then you should have paid more attention when I was scrubbing yours. I don’t think you’ve mastered the way of it.”
“Pity. I think I’ve lost the cloth.”
Before his hand could dive beneath the water, Kenna stopped him. “I’ll find it. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“No trouble,” he assured her, grinning wickedly behind her.
She slapped his hand again for good measure. “I can always count on you to state the obvious.” Kenna groped beneath the surface and came up with the cloth. “Here it is.” She handed it over her shoulder and leaned forward, hugging her knees and sighing with pleasure as Rhys trickled water over her back. He applied the cloth gently in an ever-widening circle. “I’ve been thinking,” she said dreamily, then qualified quickly. “About the routes and cargoes.”
“Pity.” Rhys echoed his earlier sentiment.
“If we were unscrupulous we would have the problem of capital solved.”
Rhys knew precisely to what she was referring. “Could you live with yourself if we involved our ships in the slave trade or opium smuggling?”
“You know I couldn’t. And neither could you.”
“Are you certain about me?”
She knew Rhys was teasing. If she had felt more confident of his feelings for her she would have told him then that she loved him, and loving him made it quite impossible for her to believe he could engage in any illegal or immoral trade. “I’m certain,” she said simply, but with complete conviction.
“Good.” He lifted a handful of hair at her neck and kissed the damp, baby soft skin.
