A Heart's Masquerade (7 page)

Ransom frowned. "When the first sugar crop of my hard-won plantation was burned to the ground, I suspected, but had no proof, that Devlin was responsible. After that, there were minor incidents, and, of course, the spies, including a lovely young ‘widow’ intent on giving me the clap," he said.

"It was not until I began the shipping business and found several cargoes damaged or missing that I was able to find out for sure, by putting some... pressure on the appropriate parties." Ransom’s expression grew grim again.

"I sought him out, but he was not easily found. Finally, I came upon him in one of his warehouses overseeing the transfer of some cargo, which I simply diverted to one of my own vessels as payment due."

Cat shuddered. "That cannot have pleased him."

Ransom nodded. "But since I had a pistol aimed at his heart, he gave me no argument. I suggested that we call the game even and warned him that I had discovered some of his dealings, which would greatly interest the authorities. That was more than a year ago, and I’ve not been troubled by him since... until the warehouse was burned."

"And now the ships," Cat said.

"Yes, the ships," Ransom said. "I would like to learn more about Ben Pike," he added, finally turning away from the bulwark. “And I know just the place to look for information."

Ransom spoke softly, as if forgetting Cat’s presence, but then he looked down at her, his brow lifted. "And I think I’ve given you more than your fill of answers for one day, my lad."

Recognizing the dismissal in his tone, Cat hurried off. Although she could not like what she'd heard, the fact that he’d shared such personal information with her made her steps - and heart - lighter.

***

Cat tossed and turned in her hammock, assailed by thoughts of her captain. Finally, she flipped onto her back, opened her eyes, and listened for Ransom’s steady breathing. By the silence, she knew he was not in his bed. Sighing into the darkness, she crossed her hands behind her head.

If this was love, why did all the poets aspire to it? Ever since her self-discovery, Cat’s emotions had been tossed about like flotsam on the waves, sudden elation swiftly turning to gloom. And she was beginning to get seasick. How on earth had matters come to such a pass?

It had all started after the visit to Tortola. That’s when Ransom had slipped into her nightly dreams. Cat dismissed them, for she had no control over what went on in her head while she slept. Then the visions sneaked into her daylight hours, and she found herself imagining what would happen if she threw her arms around him or how it would feel to kiss him.

These were dangerous notions, Cat knew, and her healthy instinct for self-preservation beat back her lovesickness. But still, the images came, unbidden.

Surely he cares for me, Cat told herself in the darkness. What if I confessed all?
You might be thrown to the sharks
, she answered. And with a grimace, she rolled from the hammock.

On deck she spoke briefly to the watch before walking to the bulwark, where she propped her elbows and took in the glorious night. The moon was a shining sliver, and the bright stars seemed endless, while the rest of the world faded to black. The roar of the sea, the groan of the timbers, and the flap of the sails sounded eerie in the darkness.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?"

Warm flooded her chest at the sound of the captain’s familiar deep voice. She sensed him nearby, and a shiver danced up her neck. But she only grunted. "Aye."

"This is one of the reasons I stay at sea," he said, leaning into the rail. The two stood in silence for some time before Cat finally spoke.

"What are the other reasons?" she asked. She felt, rather than saw, him shrug beside her as they faced the ocean.

"It’s an honest fight," he said softly. "Can you understand that, little Cat?"

"I think so, captain." Cat paused, carefully choosing her words before she continued. "The ocean’s not for you or against you. She’s just there."

"Very good, lad," he said. "It’s all a fight, one way or the other, but out here, the fight is more elemental."

Cat stood quietly staring into the night until she was struck by a sudden bolt of insight. "You don’t have a very high opinion of people, do you?" she asked.

For a moment, she thought the captain had taken offense at her comment, but then she heard his low chuckle.

"I’ll admit there are few in this world who win my respect," he said, wryly. "Take a lesson from me: you come into this world alone and leave it the same way, and the only one you can count on in between is yourself."

Cat, ever optimistic, found his philosophy depressing, and she frowned down at the wood beneath her fingers. "Have you no family, sir? No desire to have babes of your own?" she asked, a lump lodging in her throat.

She felt him stiffen in response. "No. I have no family, and I've learned not to grow too attached to anything or anyone."

Cat turned only to see his dark figure striding away. Hurt at his rebuke, she wanted to call him back, to argue with him. But instead she tore her gaze away and blinked at the moon, disillusioned.

Although she’d never thought it out coherently, in the back of her mind she had harbored the fantasy that somehow, someday, she would blossom into a beautiful woman, Ransom would fall madly in love with her, and they would sail off into the sunset.

She was well aware of his low opinion of women and his solitary nature, but she had thought to change him. Somehow, someday, things would be different. He cared for her a little, no matter what he said. And when he found out who she really was, he would sweep her off her feet.

Ha! Cat snorted. It was all childish nonsense, she realized. She would never be anything more than a skinny girl who could pass for a boy, and he would never love any woman.

Her romantic dreams shattered, Cat put her chin in her hands and looked glumly out into the night, now bereft of all its mystery and allure.

***

Cat brooded for days after her conversation with Ransom. Even the festive mood of the crew when they made port failed to cheer her. Harry tried to talk her into going ashore, but they were anchored off L’Etoile, a disreputable place if ever there was one, and Ransom had warned her to stay aboard the ship.

Chafing under her captain’s restrictions, she sulked about the deck until Bull collared her with an invitation to join him and his fellows. She was about to refuse again, but caught herself. And with a rebellious nod, she tagged along.

She was determined to enjoy the outing, but her group, louder and more boisterous than Harry’s, seemed to draw unwanted attention, and the tavern that Bull chose was filthy, even by Cat’s relaxed standards. She dared not glance too closely at the glass from which she drank, hoping that the rum in it had washed away any insects making their home in the brackish bottom.

Cat viewed the other occupants of the place with a wary eye, for they were a foul-looking lot, the kind who would as soon slit your throat as look at you. L’Etoile, a refuge for those with no love for the laws of any country, was a favorite haunt of the pirates and privateers who worked these waters. And Bull had unerringly chosen the place where the worst of them congregated.

A scuffle across the room made Cat think twice about staying, and she urged her neighbor, the odiferous Marlowe, to gather his fellows together for an early exit. But he would have none of it, so Cat searched for Bull, hoping he would have more sense than the rest.

Her faith was misplaced, for when she found him Bull was loudly insulting Napoleon in front of several Frenchmen. As soon as the words left Bull’s mouth, all hell broke loose among his audience. And before long, it seemed that everyone in the place dove into the fray, fists flying and more than a few knives flashing.

Cat managed to leap atop a high cupboard, from which she dispensed bottles of liquor over the heads of the appropriate parties. But despite her continued support, the battle seemed to be going against the
Reckless
crew. And Cat eyed the door, hoping for an escape.

Suddenly, the breath was knocked from her lungs as someone pulled her leg out beneath her and dragged outside by her shirt collar, despite her screaming, kicking, and biting.

"Hold, you feline!" a familiar voice shouted as she was thrown to the ground at the back of the tavern.

"Captain!" Cat called out in surprise, rolling to her feet.

"By my count, you are losing your spare lives far too quickly, urchin. What possessed you to anywhere with Bull Marston, a man known for his attraction to trouble?" Ransom asked, his expression hard.

Cat promptly quelled the exhilaration that rushed through her at the sight of him. Instead, she took umbrage at his tone. She drew a breath to give a sharp retort, but the fury on his face stopped her. Ordering her to stay put, he walked back into the tavern.

Although she obeyed in the strictest sense of the word, Cat moved closer to the door, opening it a crack to peek inside. She stared in reluctant admiration as he dispatched more than one burly fellow in an effort to reach Bull and the small band from the
Reckless
that remained standing. As she watched, her attention was drawn to a swarthy man on the other side of the room, who remained oddly apart from the fighting.

The fellow’s stealthy movements, so out of place among the other rampaging, drunken brawlers, were enough to make her curious. And that curiosity turned to apprehension when he drew a knife and began to move purposefully through the crowd.
Too purposefully
, Cat thought, for while the other sailors lashed out at anyone in their vicinity, the swarthy man seemed intent on a specific target.

Ignoring the captain’s directive to remain where she was, Cat slipped back into the tavern as surreptitiously as possible. Her gaze fixed on the knife-wielding fellow, she was dismayed to see him edge closer and closer to Ransom. Suddenly, the man made his move, and Cat’s heart leapt into her throat as she watched him point the blade toward Ransom’s back.

Without thinking, Cat threw herself at the offender with a shout, knocking him to the floor. The two rolled in the dust until he pinned Cat beneath him. She gasped for air, stricken by the sight of the knife raised above her.

Although weak, Cat was wiry, and as the swarthy man’s arm descended, she jerked sideways. The movement saved her life, but it did not prevent the blade from cutting into her flesh. And Cat blinked in surprise at the pain that shot through her. Then the breath was knocked from her as the dead weight of her opponent landed full upon her.

***

It was a sad lot that shuffled back to the ship. Bull nursed a cut over his eye, two men transported the unconscious body of John Fitzsimmons, and Cat stumbled alongside, refusing to be carried. Although she had hoped one day to find herself in the captain’s arms, these were not the circumstances she envisioned.

"It’s just a scratch on my arm," Cat said through clenched teeth. But Ransom ordered her to be quiet, and the effort it took to argue with him seemed ill-expended. She felt dizzy with rum and pain, but she fought the urge to drift off and join poor Fitzsimmons in oblivion.

While her shipmate’s loss of consciousness didn’t matter, Cat’s disguise, her identity, and perhaps her very life depended on her staying awake and aware. She simply could not faint because she knew what Ransom would do when he got her back to his cabin.

He would strip off her bloody shirt.

Cat bit back a groan, determined that would not happen.

"Hold on, lad," Ransom said as he helped her along, and Cat found herself wondering whether this reckoning was fated. She had become complacent and far too settled into her precarious position.

But she knew that women were thought to be bad luck aboard ships, and stories of such discoveries returned to haunt her. Surely Ransom would not throw her overboard... or worse.

Cat tried not to panic, for it only aggravated her pounding head, and she could barely think as it was. It wasn’t until she reached the relative privacy of the captain’s cabin that she allowed herself to relax slightly.

Ransom urged her down upon his bed, but Cat perched upon the edge, the better to fend off the captain’s hands as they moved toward her shirt.

"It’s my arm!" she protested.

"Let me see," Ransom said.

"Here. Look, then," Cat said, pushing up the sodden sleeve.

"Damn it, Cat. Let me get that bloody shirt off you," he said, his temper flaring.

"My scars..."

"Your scars be damned," he said. But she crossed her arms over her chest, her limp hand clinging to the fabric as tears welled in her eyes.

"Oh, for God’s sake." Ransom muttered a stream of curses, and Cat felt the blood drain from her face as her destiny hung in the balance.

Then, with another oath, he released her shirt and pushed up her sleeve, exposing the torn flesh on the inside of her arm.

"It’s just a scratch," he said, confirming her claim. And Cat felt weak with relief. Or was she dizzy?

His face grim, he cleaned and neatly dressed the wound, then tossed a clean shirt onto the bed. "I’ll leave you to your... modesty," he said. "But first, suppose you tell me why you disobeyed my orders and went back inside that tavern."

"He was going to kill you," Cat said, keenly aware of the coldness in Ransom’s voice. "He went after you deliberately, captain, ignoring everyone else. Maybe that man Devlin has changed his tactics."

"A knife in the back?" Ransom scoffed. "That’s a bit too literal for Devlin. Perhaps your man simply chose me out of the crowd as a good target or recognized me as a leader." He turned and poured himself a shot of whiskey and handed her one, as well. She knew the liquor was designed to dull any pain, but it only made her queasy.

"I don’t think so," Cat said. Her shoulders slumping with exhaustion, she fought back the urge to cry. She longed for comfort from her captain, not this chilly interrogation.

And in that moment she knew with sudden, piercing certainty what she had only suspected after their conversation the other night. Her love for Ransom would never be returned, no matter what her guise, because the captain was incapable of caring for anyone.