Irish Linen (2 page)

“Don’t talk,” Lucas said. He studied the wet female before him and wondered what on earth had possessed him to bring her to his cabin. She’d been attacked and was obviously in no condition to be left on her own, he thought What else could he have done?

Irritation curled in his stomach. It wasn’t like him to rescue helpless peasants; why had he done so now? Yet, how could he have ignored her cry for help?

He couldn’t allow Ned Fellows to despoil the girl.
But, dear God, what possessed me to claim her as my betrothed?

His gaze sharpened on the young woman in his chair. It was a wonder that Fellows had believed him; she didn’t look like the fiancée of a man of his station.

Her face looked gaunt with dark shadows beneath her blue eyes. Her hair was dark, of an indeterminable color due either to the rain or dirt, he wasn’t sure which.

The woman sat, hugging herself with her arms, shivering so hard that her teeth chattered. With a muffled curse for his thoughtlessness, Lucas strode to his bunk and pulled off a blanket, which he wrapped about the girl’s shaking shoulders.

“Th-than-kk you again.” Her gaze shined with gratitude.

Disturbed by the effect of her glistening blue eyes,
he grunted in response and went to unlock his sea chest. He took out dry clothes for himself from the chest’s contents and then dug deeper to the bottom where he’d packed the garments he’d bought in London for his sister. Lucas withdrew a cloak of green wool, which he eyed critically before turning to gauge the Irish girl’s size.

He could tell that his “guest” was warmer. She was trembling less violently.

Satisfied that she’d be fine while he shed his wet clothes, Lucas tossed the cloak on the bunk next to his dry garments, before he started to change. He’d pulled off his shirt when he thought he felt her gaze. He turned only to find that he was mistaken. She stared off in space as if reliving the horror of Fellows’s assault.

Filled with compassion, Lucas went to her and knelt, bringing himself to her eye level. “What’s your name?” he asked gendy. When she didn’t respond, he touched her arm. She gasped and jerked away, her eyes wide with fear.

He watched her expression change as her nightmare receded and she realized who he was. He was strangely pleased to see her look of fear vanish. It meant that she trusted him.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was husky. “I couldn’t help remembering …”

“Don’t think of it. You’re safe now, and Ned Fellows won’t bother you again.”

She gave a weak smile. “I don’t know how to show me gratitude.”

“You can tell me your name.”

Her lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks. “Meghan,” she said, offering him her hand. “Meghan McBride.”

Lucas rose to his feet and took her hand, frowning
when he felt its coldness. He rubbed it to restore warmth. She had small hands, feminine … hands that had known work. “Meghan McBride,” he murmured. He chafed her palm until he felt heat, and then turned his attention to its mate. “You feel like ice. You’ll be lucky if you don’t sicken.”

He heard a sharp inhalation of breath and saw her face change as if she’d just realized that he had no shirt. Wariness entered her expression, and she pulled free of his grasp.

“I won’t hurt you, Meghan,” he said softly. He gave her a reassuring smile. He offered her his hand again. “I’m Lucas Ridgely.”

She stared at his extended hand before she met his gaze. After a moment of hesitation, she shook his hand.

“I don’t know what I’d have done if ye hadn’t—” She choked up, her blue eyes misting. She blinked several times against tears.

“Don’t think about it.” He turned away to pull on his shirt. Then, he grabbed a green garment from the bunk and turned to find her staring. She looked away as he approached.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes.” He thought that his voice sounded unusually brusque.

Startled, she raised her gaze. Her expression changed as she studied the cloak, and the meaning of his words registered. She nodded. Accepting the garment with a murmur of thanks, she stood and laid it over the back of the chair.

Meghan started to unwrap the now damp blanket and then froze as if suddenly self-conscious.

“I’ll take that,” Lucas said. He extended his hand for the blanket.

She took off her shawl and then paused in the act
of unbuttoning the front of her worn gown to meet Lucas’s gaze warily.

Realization dawned. He set the blanket on the bunk. “I’ll wait outside,” he said, moving toward the cabin door. “Will you be all right?” At her nod, he left the room.

Meghan’s fingers shook with cold as she unbuttoned her wet garment. She could feel her bruised flesh as she took off her gown, but left on her damp shift. A quick examination brought to light several bruises made by the mate’s hand; the areas felt tender to the touch.

She reached for the cloak, and Meghan made a sound of pleasure as she held up the garment for inspection. She’d never seen or felt a garment so fine. It was heavy and well made with a hood, a shade of green darker than the rolling hills of her homeland.

Raising the cloak to lift over her head, Meghan stumbled and nearly fell. She lowered the weighty garment before she struggled to raise it again., She was so tired that her arms felt leaden.

The woolen folds fell about her head and shoulders, trapping her for a moment, making it difficult to breathe. She cried out at the lack of air, reliving the terror of Ned Fellows crushing her beneath his weight, stealing her breath. She panicked and fought to be free of her fabric prison. Fear lent her new strength, and she managed to pull off the cloak. Clutching it to her breasts, she closed her eyes and inhaled fresh air until she felt calmness return to her.

Shivering, Meghan opened her eyes and then gasped. During her attack of panic, Lucas had silently reentered the cabin. She was instantly aware that she stood scantily clad in her thread-worn shift. Heat infused her from head to toe. She clutched the cloak
tighter and raised it to her chin to shield herself from his view.

“I heard you cry out,” he said, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Embarrassed, she didn’t reply. Something in the man’s dark gaze scared her. “No,” she breathed, shrinking away in fear as she saw not Lucas, but the first mate.

Lucas started to approach and then froze when he saw terror in her eyes. “Meghan.”

She blinked and refocused her gaze. Reaction set in, and she trembled.

With an exclamation of concern, Lucas moved quickly. He pried the cloak from her fingers and, with soothing words, pulled it over her head, before she had a chance to protest.

The back of his fingers burned against her flesh as he tugged down the edges of her cloak. He adjusted the hood at her nape and then pushed her gently to sit in the chair. “You look as if you’re about to faint,” he said. “Rest there while I figure out what to do with you.”

She perked up. “Do with me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “We are ‘betrothed’ now, or have you forgotten? If we’re to keep you safe, we’ll have to continue the act.” He bent to pick up her discarded shawl and gown, holding them up with a grimace at their condition, before draping the garments over his sea chest.

His reaction stung. “I’m thankful ye came when ye did,” she said, “but there’s no need to concern yourself with me any longer. The man won’t bother me again.”

He fixed her with a hard look. “And the others? There are at least one hundred crew members on this ship. Will you handle them as well as you did the mate?”

She felt herself flush to the roots of her hair. “I’ll manage,” she mumbled.

Lucas closed the distance between them. She stared at him as she grappled with mixed feelings. She was angry and frustrated with her predicament, and shaken by the way Lucas Ridgely was making her feel. How could she feel safe and protected with him, yet unsettled, too?

“You need my help,” he said without enthusiasm.

“I’ll be all right.”

He cupped her jaw and forced her to meet his gaze.
“You need my help.”

His hands on her cheeks were warm. To her surprise, his expression was gentle. Had she misinterpreted his reluctance to help? “I’m grateful for the offer, Mr. Ridgely.”

“Lucas,” he prompted with a smile.

Her stomach flip-flopped. “Lucas.”

“After all we’re betrothed.”

She inhaled sharply at the beauty of his male grin. “I’m sorry. I—”

He held up his hand. “No need to apologize. Our engagement was my doing.” He sighed. “What a mess! But we’ll think of something. For now, why don’t you lie down and rest? We’ll talk later.”

Meghan glanced toward the bunk that looked inviting. She was in his cabin, and that was
his
bed. Dare she stay and sleep as he’d suggested?

She didn’t relish the prospect of returning to her own cabin and the company of three other women, especially when one of them was ill.

She peered at him hard. “What are you going to do?” He looked exhausted himself. Had he been hurt in the fight? She didn’t think so. Her face warmed at the mental image of his bare chest.

Meghan sat up straighter when he didn’t immediately answer.

“I need to go topside,” he said. “Don’t worry; your virtue is safe.”

She felt herself turning several deepening shades of red.

Lucas reached into a cabinet. “Here.” He handed her another blanket. “In case, you’re still cold.”

Meghan murmured her thanks as she accepted the quilt and clutched it against herself. She looked longingly toward the bunk and wondered if she’d hurt the cloak by sleeping in it. It felt slightly scratchy, but heavy and warm; she didn’t want to take it off. “The cloak,” she breathed.

“I know it’s not the most comfortable article of clothing, but you may sleep in it. My sister has others. Your need is greater than hers.”

His sister.
“Thank you.”

He opened the door and glanced back. “Lock the door when I’m gone.” He paused. “I’ll knock three times when I return.”

Meghan followed him to the door.

He paused at the threshold and faced her. “Don’t worry, Meghan McBride.” His deep voice was soft and filled with caring. “We’ll work it out … together.” And he left.

She swallowed hard as she bolted the closed door. It had been a rough day … a rough voyage. But oddly enough she found Lucas Ridgely’s parting words comforting. Exhausted, Meghan moved to the bunk and lay down. She sighed and closed her eyes and was immediately aware of a pleasant, woodsy scent on the pillow. Lucas’s scent.

Her eyes flashed open and she stared at the beamed ceiling. Her heart beat faster as she recalled how glad
she’d been when Lucas had rescued her, the warmth and haven of his strong arms.

Who was this man who had saved her? And why did she feel as if she could trust him?

She exhaled and closed her eyes. The noises on the ship faded as she fell asleep.

Lucas stood at the ship’s rail and stared out over the darkened sea. It had been hours since he’d left Meghan in his cabin, and still he struggled with what to do with her.

We need to talk.
But the poor woman had been through a lot and talking would come better after she’d slept.

He rubbed his temple, trying to ease the headache that had been steadily building since his meeting with the captain.

Dear Lord, what had possessed him to claim the girl as his future bride? Not just once, but twice!

After long and careful thought, he could understand why he’d done so to Fellows. It’d been an impulsive action to save Meghan from the mate and protect her from future attacks from the man.

But what had made him embellish the tale to Richard Nichols, the captain of the ship?

He scowled as he recalled the conversation. When he’d entered the captain’s cabin, Nichols had eyed him with surprise from across his chart table.

“Ridgely,” the officer had said. “My steward said you needed to speak with me.”

Lucas had met Richard Nichols on numerous occasions in Philadelphia and Wilmington, where his family ties to the shipping industry had thrust them together at dinner parties and other social affairs.

He nodded, noting the tension in the man and wondering
at its cause. ‘I’d like a word with you about Ned Fellows.” He saw something flicker across Nichols’s expression.

“Fellows can be trouble, I admit, but he knows his job.”

Lucas stared at the man hard. “This afternoon Ned Fellows attacked a passenger. An innocent female passenger.”

The captain averted his gaze.

“He’s done this before?” Lucas was shocked. He felt his stomach tighten with anger. Why hadn’t Fellows been relieved of his duties?

“It was never proven,” the man mumbled.

“Dear God!”

Nichols met his gaze with a defensive look. “The
Mary Freedom
has been a cargo ship for most of her days and Ned Fellows has been with her for all of them. The last time the accusation was made, the woman was a person of questionable character.”

“So you dismissed the matter.” Tension filled the ensuing silence.

The captain cleared his throat. “Fellows wasn’t the first to have her.”

“This time
the woman’s character isn’t in question, captain.” Lucas paused. “She’s my fiancée.”

The man looked astonished, and Lucas was pleased.

“I don’t believe the owners of this vessel would look favorably on a captain who can’t control his men.”

“Are you threatening me?” Nichols looked furious.

“Does it sound like a threat?” Lucas’s smile was grim. “I’m merely making a perceptive observation.”

Lucas saw the captain relax. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not threatening you, Richard. You know me too well for that. But I need to be assured that a woman—any woman on board your
ship—is safe from the unwanted attentions of your men.”

Richard Nichols rubbed a hand over his face wearily. “I’ll speak with him,” he said. His gaze sharpened. “But, Lucas … guard your fiancée well. Warn her against wandering about the ship without escort.”

Lucas frowned at the captain’s tone. After a moment during which he’d deduced no hidden meaning, he nodded. “I’ll do that, captain.”