Captain of My Heart (23 page)

The great cabin of the seventy-four-gun ship
of the line
Dauntless
was drafty and cold, but Captain
Richard Crichton was sweating beneath his shirt and fine blue coat.
Aside from his pale, milk-colored eyes, his physical attributes
were quite unremarkable; his height, his build, even his face,
which might have been lost to its own fairness if not for the
naturally red-rimmed eyes and lusterless hair that didn’t seem to
grow from his head, but rather, to lie atop it like sparse and
lifeless thatch. Currently that hair was yanked bank in a severe
queue between his blocky, epauletted shoulders, and only his
fingers, not resting atop his sword hilt but caressing it as they
might a lover, gave any indication of his agitation. His face was a
carefully schooled study of acceptance, for he knew better than to
respond to Sir Geoffrey’s remark. Instead, he drew himself up a
little straighter and stared over the admiral’s sloped shoulder,
his eyes cold, his mouth harder than marble and his heart burning
with hatred for a certain American privateer.

Sir Geoffrey turned another page, and a
trickle of sweat raced down Crichton’s back.

Brendan Jay Merrick.
The very name
brought a bitter taste to Crichton’s mouth. After the exchange of
British and American prisoners that had returned him to Sir
Geoffrey’s fleet, Sir Geoffrey had given him a less than
enthusiastic welcome when he’d come aboard
Dauntless
last
autumn—and had been skeptical about giving him command of another
ship. But
Viper’s
ex-captain had died in action, and the
frigate had needed a new one. Otherwise, Crichton would’ve had to
wait months to get another command.

And now Merrick had made him look like a fool
once more.

A muscle jumped in Crichton’s jaw. He
should’ve made sure the bastard was dead four years ago—

“I say, Richard, this is balderdash, all of
it.” The admiral was still bent over the reports, his brows cinched
as he tried to read Crichton’s words. The bloody bugger should’ve
retired long ago, Crichton thought. Maybe he’d do them all a favor
and keel over dead one of these days. But of course, that would put
the fleet’s command under Sir Geoffrey’s flag captain, the haughty
Hiram Ellsworth—a pompous prig whom Crichton despised.

He far preferred Sir Geoffrey.

The admiral sighed and turned another page.
Crichton sweated some more. Across the table, Ellsworth shot him a
lofty, condescending grin and reached for his snuff. Crichton
ignored him. He’d spent hours rewriting that report, trying to
spare himself as much humiliation as possible. It was taking the
old goat just as long to read it. Crichton bit the inside of his
lip and maintained his stiff poise. Dread tightened his gut. The
report was not exactly . . . flattering.

Finally Sir Geoffrey pushed the papers aside
with a tired motion, leaned his brow into his hand, and pivoted it
in his palm to gaze up at his frigate captain. “What I cannot
understand, Richard, is how the devil a thirty-two-gun frigate such
as
Viper
could be outmaneuvered, outfought, and then robbed
of her own company! This is a disgrace!”

“Preposterous!” Ellsworth exclaimed.

Crichton’s fingers tightened on the sword
hilt. “I told you, sir—it was Merrick.”

That, of course, explained everything. Sir
Geoffrey dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbed them
tiredly, and stared bleakly down at the report, now pinned beneath
his elbows. “Are you sure, Richard?”

“Positive, sir.”

“I’d thought him dead. I suppose I should’ve
known better.”

“We all should’ve known better, sir.”

“A fine young man, a credit to the navy that
made him. And a disgrace to the country he’s turned against. I
daresay I’m glad to hear he’s hale and healthy, but damme, Richard,
he
is
a thorn in our side. God rot it, I’m growing too old
for this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What?”

“That is, yes, sir, he is a thorn in our
side.”

Sir Geoffrey turned away to stare bleakly out
the salt-caked stern windows. A faint smile of remembrance curved
his stern mouth.
Brendan Jay Merrick.
His former flag
captain had been a laughing young rake with a mirthful grin and the
cleverness of a fox. As a lieutenant, he’d been commendable; as a
captain, he’d been the best. God only knew what he would have made
of himself had he not incited that mutiny four years ago on
Dismal
’s decks before being shot down by a rioting seaman,
for ’twas men like Merrick who made the British navy proud. Men
like Merrick who became public heroes.

And men like Merrick who made the most
dastardly foes.

Sighing, Sir Geoffrey picked up a brass
protractor and absently toyed with it. Merrick’s Irish luck, it
seemed, was stronger than ever. Any man who could survive a gunshot
wound could certainly survive being swept out to sea on a piece of
driftwood, which was what Crichton’s
last
report had
revealed. But intelligence, especially when it concerned events in
the colonies, could not always be relied upon. No, he wasn’t
surprised to hear that Merrick was alive. He wasn’t surprised to
find that the young rake had turned up again when they least
expected him.

And he wasn’t surprised to hear about this
schooner.

She was a dangerous thing in herself, by the
sound of it. But in the hands of Captain Brendan Merrick . . .

His smile faded abruptly. He didn’t need
this; he really didn’t. Yanking the reports toward him, he squinted
and tried once again to decipher Crichton’s crabbed script, finally
shoving the papers away with a sound of disgust and annoyance. “A
pox on the written word, Richard! My eyes are killing me. Tell me
exactly what happened.”

“Of course, sir.” Crichton straightened his
shoulders and gave him a pale, flat stare that revealed no emotion
whatsoever. “I had taken
Caper,
an American brig of fourteen
guns, and put a prize crew aboard her under the command of
Lieutenant Sanderson.” His voice was calm, as though he were
discussing politics over tea. “It had been snowing off and on
throughout the day, and by nightfall the wind was blowing quite a
gale. Near dusk, I brought
Viper
into open sea to wait it
out. Sanderson sought shelter in a cove. Shortly after dawn I heard
gunfire, and went to investigate.”

“And?”

“’Twas then that I found the schooner.”

The vice admiral leaned back in his chair.
“Ah yes . . . the schooner.”

A muscle twitched in Crichton’s iron-hard
jaw. “She was the most singular ship I’ve ever seen. Tall,
raked-back masts, a low profile, very little freeboard . . . quite
similar to those clippers coming out of Baltimore, I’d say. She
already had my prize brig,
Caper,
under her wing and was
making off with her when I happened upon them. I went after her, of
course, given the fact that she alone was obviously worth far more
than
Caper
and all her cargo.”

“And it was at this point that the brig
parted company with the schooner?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ellsworth placed a bit of snuff in each
nostril with the precision of a marksman. “
I
would’ve gone
after the brig, it being a prize and all. I say, Crichton, d’you
know what became of it?”

“Presumably, it was sent back to an American
port,” Crichton said tersely.

“Gentlemen,” Sir Geoffrey warned, noting the
mottled flush creeping above Crichton’s neatly tied stock. There
was no love lost between these two. “Please continue, Richard.”

Crichton moved his thumb rapidly over his
sword hilt. “Sir, this is really most humiliating.”

“I realize that, Richard. It is humiliating
to you, to me, to the entire Royal Navy. But the problem must be
dealt with in a fitting manner. And Merrick, if not dealt with,
will become quite a problem indeed, I’m afraid.”

Crichton drew in his breath. It was all
there, right in the report, yet still, the old buzzard wanted him
to relate it all over again—and in front of Ellsworth, too.
Crichton clenched his back teeth together, hard. Hell would freeze
over before he’d give either Sir Geoffrey or the pompous Ellsworth
the satisfaction of seeing him react in anything but a professional
way. No matter how poor his luck had been, no matter how political
the system was that placed men like Merrick, whose father had been
an admiral himself, and Ellsworth, whose father was an earl, in
coveted positions, there was always a chance for promotion.

Except this time, Merrick might have
destroyed his chances for good.

Again, that bitter taste in his mouth, that
twist of hatred in his gut. Sir Geoffrey was waiting, his bleary
old eyes keen and piercing. Another trickle of sweat raced between
Crichton’s shoulder blades, but he managed to keep the uneasiness
out of his voice. “So then I crowded on as much canvas as
Viper
could stand, which, given the strong wind, sir, was
not as much as I would’ve liked, and gave chase to the schooner. I
thought her most sloppily handled—the rebels had too much sail on
her, and it seemed as though she’d overset herself at any moment.
At the same time, I found it odd that despite all that cloth, she
wasn’t making much headway.” His milky eyes grew hard, their
translucency emphasized by the pink-tinged lids. “I know now, of
course, that it was all a trick. They’d simply rigged a sea anchor
to make it
look
as though she was faltering.”

“Sounds like Merrick, all right,” Ellsworth
sniffed.

Crichton shot him a poisonous glance.

Sir Geoffrey tossed the protractor to his
desk. “Go on, Richard.”

“After a turn of the glass, I realized the
schooner was no longer faltering, that she was indeed a fast sailer
and quite skillfully handled. She’d adopted the ploy to lead me
away from the brig, of course. I fired upon her, hoping to cripple
her, but barely managed to clip her wings, so swift was her flight
once she’d cut loose the sea anchor.”

Sir Geoffrey gazed down at the report to hide
his expression.
Ah, Merrick,
he thought,
even now, you
don’t disappoint me
. He looked up and found Crichton’s gaze
upon him, those strange, milky eyes as barren as the Arctic and
just as cold. Sir Geoffrey’s smile faded abruptly. “Given what you
told me about the schooner, I don’t find it surprising that she led
you a merry chase, Richard. But I think you’re avoiding the real
issue—the engagement.”

Crichton’s knuckles whitened on the sword
hilt. “The schooner was most elusive, sir. And let me remind you it
was snowing hard. The wind was a westerly, yet she headed almost
into the teeth of it. ’Twas most remarkable—”

“The engagement, Richard?”

“Er, yes, the engagement.” Crichton faltered,
and went on. “I chased her into a cove, sir, where she holed up,
turned on her heel, and presented her broadside to me. The channel
into the cove was too shallow for a vessel of
Viper’s
draft,
so I went in as far as I dared. Had it been deeper, I could’ve
brought all of my guns to bear, and that would’ve been the end of
it; as it was, I could only use my bow chasers, while the schooner,
safely in the cove, could give me her full starboard battery. This,
of course, she did.” Crichton willed himself to stay calm, knowing
that his story must lead up to the most humiliating part of all.
“We stood this abuse for an hour, sir, during which time I lost my
fore topmast and received considerable damage to both bowsprit and
hull. We couldn’t get in to get her, and she damn well wasn’t about
to come out.”

“So you retreated?”

“I, er,
left,
sir. I don’t wish to
think of it as a retreat.”

Ellsworth made a snorting sound.

Crichton’s eyes flashed.

Sir Geoffrey rustled the loose pages of the
report. “So it was then that you decided to go in search of the
brig instead. Is that correct, Richard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And shortly thereafter you found the
schooner trailing you and were forced to engage her once
again?”

“Had she not had the element of surprise,
sir, I vow that the outcome would’ve been different!”

“I thought you said Merrick was commanding
her,” Ellsworth taunted.

“Please mind your tongue, Hiram,” Sir
Geoffrey warned. “You’d not have fared any better, I daresay.”

Ellsworth snorted and reached for his
snuff.

Sir Geoffrey kneaded his aching brow. “So it
was during the following engagement that you lost your main
topmast, your rudder, and subsequently, your steering. Merrick must
have a damned good gunner aboard to accomplish all that with a
vessel whose armament was far inferior to yours.” He looked up and
met Crichton’s flat and unblinking stare. “At least I can commend
you for not striking your colors. In a sea fight, of course,
anything can happen. I shan’t blame you for your conduct, despite
the fact that Merrick had fewer than half the guns your
Viper
did.”

“And they were very well used, I might add.
And if that damned schooner hadn’t slipped up like a ghost behind
us and crippled us with her first shot, I vow she would’ve been my
prize and I’d have had Merrick dancing a jig from his own bloody
foremast!”

A heavy silence ensued. Outside, the sea
gurgled beneath the rudder, and cries drifted down from above as
the first lieutenant gave the order to tack. Sir Geoffrey stared
thoughtfully out the huge windows, his eyes distant and maybe even
a little sad. Then, remembering himself, he picked up a page of
Crichton’s report. “So it was at this point that you anchored
Viper
to make your repairs.” He set the paper down and shook
his head. “This is where I grow confused, Richard. What I can’t
fathom is how the devil
forty-five
men
could just
disappear!”