Merline Lovelace (19 page)

Neither man paid any attention to Sarah’s soft gasp.

“I should have killed you then,” Jamie said, his eyes locked with Denham’s, “instead of just putting a sword through your shoulder.”

“Aye, you…should have. You would have saved…us both considerable…grief.” The dying man’s lips pulled back in a ghastly smile. “Did you never…wonder how Cathwright, as blind drunk as…he was, found his way to your quarters to catch you…with his wife?”

“Aye,” Jamie said softly, “I wondered.”

“The bitch…was hot to bed you. I knew it We all
knew…” A low, gurgling rumble rose from the captain’s middle. His face twisted. “Aaaagh.”

Sarah took an involuntary step back, gagging, as a new wave of noxious stink wafted from the bed. She thought Denham would expire in that moment. His eyes rolled back in his head. His limbs convulsed under the coverings. His face took on an ashen hue.

When at last the fit subsided, sweat rolled from his every pore. Glazed and distant, his pale eyes searched the cabin. Slowly, they focused on Jamie.

“You said…you should have…killed me all those years…ago. I give you…leave to finish the job now. Do you…hear me, Kerrick? Now.”

Jamie’s jaw went hard and tight. “I hear you.”

Sarah stood rooted to the spot. She knew she should protest the captain’s request. It went against all laws of God and man. Against every stricture her father had ever taught her. But never,
ever
had she witnessed such agony.

Jamie’s cold voice broke into her whirling thoughts. “Before you make your entry into hell, Denham, you may perform a last duty as captain of this ship.”

“What is that, pray? Read my…own funeral service?”

“A marriage service.”

Sarah gaped at Jamie in utter stupefaction. A marriage service? He could not mean it! Not here! Not now!

Denham’s rasping laugh tore through her astonishment. “I can think…of no more…fitting way to spend my last minutes on this earth than to…bind you forever to a…whore.”

Sarah had had enough. “You should spend them in
prayer, you detestable creature, for I suspect it will take a great many players to save your soul!”

She turned and would have left the two men to their dark pasts had not Jamie stopped her.

“Listen to me, Sarah. This is the best solution to our dilemma.”

“Not our dilemma, sir. Yours. You were the one who introduced me as your wife.”

She tried to brush past him. She wanted nothing so much as to leave this noxious cabin and breathe clean air again. He blocked her way.

“You are my wife, in all but the words.”

Sarah’s heart leaped. For a moment, a painful hope suffused her chest. Had he come to love her, after all? Did he ache at the thought of ending their days together, as she did? His next words set those foolish notions to rest forever.

“Marriage to me will not raise you any in the eyes of the world,” he told her bluntly, “but at least it will keep you from being labeled a whore.”

Her brief hope splintered and dropped like shards of broken glass to the floor.

“Will it, Jamie?”

The soft, hurt question tightened his jaw. “This is the best course we can chart, Sarah. From the moment I identified this ship as British, I intended to ask the captain to marry us.”

“You did?”

“Aye.”

She swallowed. “I suppose you will tell me why you did not share those intentions with me?”

“There wasn’t time. Fortengay told me his captain was grievously wounded. I knew I had to get you aboard as quickly as possible.”

A shiver worked its way down Sarah’s spine. “Now that you know who this captain is, you would still have him marry us?”

Jamie’s face hardened. “Yes. He’ll take the knowledge of what is done this day to the grave with him. None but us need know that the wedding came well after the bedding.”

“I…see,”

“Do you?” His eyes raked her face. “I promised I would get you safely back to England. I’ll hold to that pledge.”

“Ahh, yes. How could I have forgotten? You gave your word.”

“Dammit, you know it’s more than that. We’ve found pleasure of each other, Sarah, as much or more as any man and wife can hope for. We can learn to deal with the rest of the baggage that comes with marriage.”

She flinched. “Is that how you see this proposed union? As baggage?”

He gave a short, impatient shake of his head. “I’m handling this poorly, I know, but there isn’t time for sweet words and soft promises. Denham hasn’t long. If we’re to get it done, we must get it done quickly.”

When she still hesitated, her heart aching, he raised his hand and tipped up her chin. For once, there was no laughter in the blue eyes that held hers. Nor, Sarah saw, was there love. Only a determination to have his way.

“Just before we sailed into Macao to pick up Abigail and Charlie, you said that I could take to wife whichever of the Abernathy sisters I chose and could convince to wed me. I choose you, my stubborn Sarah. I choose you.”

“You may have chosen me, Straithe, but I—”

“I will wed you, Sarah, if I have to knock you senseless to do it.”

She couldn’t fight him any longer. She had not the strength, nor the will. As she’d told herself so often these past weeks, the good Lord would provide. Evidently He’d seen fit to provide her with a husband who would wed her to save her name…and to keep his promise to a dying missionary.

Numbly, Sarah nodded. “I will wed with you.”

“Good!”

She endured Denham’s pale, derisive stare while Jamie searched the desk for his Bible, with the necessary captain’s compendium. The dying man was too weak to hold the heavy, gold-leafed book. Jamie held it for him, and prompted him in the necessary phrases when his voice gave way to the awful gurgling.

Sarah stood stiff and silent through the short service. She’d long ago given up her girlish dreams of a wedding in a moss-covered chapel, officiated by her papa, with organ music rising joyously to the rafters and Abigail as her handmaiden. It had been years since she’d envisioned a simple, bountiful wedding feast, with her entire family and a host of friends seated under a spreading elm tree to share in her joy.

But as she stood in a foul-smelling cabin and joined herself to James Kerrick, Third Viscount Straithe, the ghosts of her foolish dreams rose up to haunt her. No family shared this moment with her. No friends marked its solemnity. No organ music added joyousness to the occasion.

Nor was there a ring or even a kiss to seal the union. As soon as the brief service was done, Jamie exchanged the Bible for a sheet of foolscap and a pen.
He scratched out a few lines and had her sign her name below his. The moment she had done so, he took the pen from her slack fingers.

“Wait for me outside, Sarah.”

She turned and reached for the door latch, leaving Jamie to the man in the coffin-like bed.

I
n the long hours that followed, Sarah found that she had gained a husband and lost the rogue who had by turns irritated, bedeviled, and besieged her heart.

The man she’d shared so many adventures and passionate moments with was not the same one who emerged from the captain’s fetid cabin an hour after sending her out. His expression closed and his eyes flat, Jamie informed her and the waiting apothecary’s assistant that Denham had died of his terrible, festering wound.

“Thank the Lord!” the seaman muttered, making no effort to hide his relief.

Still numb, Sarah couldn’t bring herself to meet her husband’s gaze. Her soul cringed at all that had occurred within that airless room. She ached for a bucket of water to sluice the foulness from her hands and face, and a dim, quiet corner to huddle in.

Jamie seemed to understand her need. Turning to the white-haired seaman, he asked him to escort his wife to an unoccupied set of quarters.

“I’ll show her to the first officer’s cabin,” the man replied wearily. “Lieutenant Fortengay was going to
move into it, him being the most senior of the officers what’s left, but now he’ll be takin’ the captain’s quarters. After they air out.”

“Good enough.” Jamie moved to Sarah’s side. “I’m going topside. Why don’t you get some rest?”

She nodded.

“I’ll send down food, and ask if there are any women’s garments aboard. Someone among the crew is bound to have purchased something for his wife or sweetheart during his travels.”

When Sarah disappeared below decks, Jamie climbed to the quarterdeck and drew in a deep, cleansing breath…the first since the garrulous Higgins had let drop the name of his captain.

Denham! Denham, of all people!

He moved to the rail, staring at the flurry of activity across the lagoon without really seeing it. His mind reached back to a time and a place he’d deliberately wiped from his memory. He saw again the slips at Portsmouth, crowded with ships of every description and tonnage as the long war with France dragged on. Relived once more the rounds of balls and routs and masquerades that marked the beginning of the season, even in the midst of war. Pictured again a slip of a girl with masses of soft brown hair and an irresistible smile.

Dorcas had captivated Jamie the first moment he’d spotted her, as she had most of the men in the crowded ballroom. Young and swaggering and absurdly proud of his uniform, Jamie had strutted like a peacock before her. She’d put him in his place with a flutter of her fan and a few well-chosen words. In the process, she’d won his heart.

They’d been so young then! All of them, even Lieutenant
Sir Percy Denham, who hovered protectively at his sister’s side throughout the ball. Too protectively, it turned out. Damn him to a thousand hells.

Jamie’s jaw screwed tight. Denham was dead. It served no purpose to relive again a past that had, ultimately, brought them both to this time and this place. Jamie would be better served to think about the future, about how he would provide for his wife…and her family.

Frowning, he shifted his shoulders, as if to better balance the load that now sat on them. The burden felt awkward. For so many years, he’d answered only for himself and, by extension, his crew. Now he had not only himself and Sarah to consider, but Abigail and Charlie and the two Abernathy boys in England as well.

He could handle the boys. He’d learned a trick or two about harnessing youthful spirits in the years since his own brother had tried his damnedest to beat them out of Jamie. The thought of taking on responsibility for Abigail put him in a sweat, though. And Sarah. Sweet, stubborn Sarah.

He’d given her the dubious protection of his name, but he could offer her little else. When they reached their destination, she would make her home in a crumbling ruin. Even worse, she’d face deliberate snubs by her neighbors.

Jamie’s fists clenched. Aside from the humiliation of being stripped of his naval commission, his exile from polite society hadn’t unduly bothered him. He’d still had the sea and, eventually, his own ship to feed his spirit. But he now possessed a wife, and it galled him to think that Sarah would suffer social ostracism because of his reckless past.

He frowned, thinking of the circles he’d once moved in. He was wise enough…and cynical enough…to recognize that appearances often carried more weight than character. He couldn’t do much about his character, but appearances were another matter. With sufficient funds, he could restore Kerrick’s Keep to some semblance of its former glory. Perhaps even repurchase a good portion of the land that once supported it. Sink his feet into English dirt, take his seat in the House of Lords, and become a proper, responsible peer of the realm.

The prospect left a hollow feeling in the pit of Jamie’s stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the sea that had been his home for most of his life and become a damned farmer.

And where would he get the funds to implement this scheme? Assuming the
Phoenix
made it safely back to England, Jamie’s share of the cargo would barely cover the expenses of the journey, let alone fund the massive investments he’d have to make in land and repairs.

Unless…

Unless he also put the ship itself on the block.

The hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach became a tight, hard knot. Selling the
Phoenix
would be like cutting off his arm. He knew her moods far better than his own. Understood her needs in fair weather and in foul. Like lovers grown old together, he could interpret her every creak and groan.

Deliberately, he unclenched his fists. The
Phoenix
was only a ship. A collection of wood planks and tall masts. Sarah was his wife. His primary responsibility now. From this day forward, she would share his days. And nights. In fair weather and in foul.

That would make up for the loss of…

That would be enough, he amended silently. For him, or any man.

First, though, he had to get her off this damned atoll.

He swept the open deck with an quick, assessing glance. He might have known that Denham would man his ship with an ill-trained, sloppy crew. They moved far too slowly in their cleanup efforts for Jamie’s taste. The shattered spars and tangled rigging should have gone over the side well before now. The ship’s carpenters, if any survived, should have set to work nailing timbers and sheets of metal over the holes in the hull to plug them.

Jamie clamped his jaw shut against the urge to bark out orders. He wasn’t the master of the
Constant.
Lieutenant Fortengay now held that dubious distinction. All Jamie could do was offer his strong back to the midshipman who had once served under him.

As soon as he climbed aboard, George made it clear that he hoped for more than a strong back. His face red and perspiring under his cockaded officer’s cap, he made his way to Jamie’s side.

“Captain Denham has died.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Jamie answered.

“Aye.”

The lieutenant was too well trained to speak ill of his superior, but the expression on his face said he wouldn’t mouth the man. Fortengay swallowed, his Adam’s apple working above the collar of his uniform as the gravity of his new responsibilities gripped him.

Jamie kept still, wondering how the young third lieutenant would handle being thrust into captaincy.
He felt a tug of pride when his former apprentice squared his shoulders and turned to face him.

“Forgive me if I speak too bluntly, sir. I suspect you don’t hold the Royal Navy in great esteem these days. Nor would I, if I’d been treated as you had. But I would ask your assistance.”

“You have it. Just tell me what you wish me to do.”

“I served under you for less than a year, but I have the greatest respect for your skills.”

Jamie said nothing, knowing how difficult this situation was for the young officer.

“I won’t ask you to share your knowledge with me in front of the men, sir. I’m senior officer of the
Constant
now, and must show that I am in command. But if you have any advice or suggestions you wish to offer privately, I would not take it amiss.”

“Good enough.” Jamie held out his hand. “We’ll get your ship to a safe port, Captain.”

The title carried immense responsibility, as both men knew only too well. Fortengay turned a bit green about the gills as he swept his battle-ravaged ship with another quick glance. Recovering swiftly, he thrust out his own hand.

“Aye, sir, we’ll get her to port.”

The challenge of directing repairs without seeming to do so occupied Jamie for the rest of the day and long into the night. The familiar ring of hammers against oak timbers and copper sheeting sounded until darkness and the crew’s battle-weariness made further work too hazardous.

Wisely, Fortengay ordered an extra ration of rum
from the ship’s stores to ease his men’s aches, then invited Jamie to join him for a delayed supper.

“I can offer you ham steak. We keep a pen of Staffordshire shoats.”

“Shoats?”

“Aye, the captain’s prized sow dropped a litter a few weeks ago.”

At Jamie’s raised brow, the lieutenant grinned. “Denham liked his meat fresh of a morning. Or there’s beef if you prefer. The captain ordered an ox slaughtered just before we were attacked.”

Jamie’s mouth watered. After a steady diet of fish and fruit, he would have relished even maggoty salt pork or stringy dried beef. Even more, he relished the prospect of an hour or two in the mess with Fortengay and the other survivors of officer and warrant officer rank. He wanted to hear more details of the attack that had crippled their ship. He also needed to understand the
Constant’s
whims and ways, which only a man who had sailed aboard her would know.

Overriding both of these, however, was the need to check on Sarah. He hadn’t seen her since their hurried wedding this morning.

“If you’ll send down a platter of ham
and
beef, I’ll share the meal with my wife,” Jamie told the lieutenant easily. “Perhaps we’ll both join you later for brandy.”

And perhaps not, he thought, heading below decks. This was their wedding night, after all.

The moment he stepped into the first lieutenant’s cabin and found Sarah asleep on the swinging, box-like bed, Jamie forgot about meat and brandy and even about learning the
Constant’s
idiosyncrasies. He stepped around the cannon that took up a good portion
of the cabin’s floor space and stood beside the woman who was now his wife.

She lay sprawled across the bed. The moonlight slanting in through the open gunport bathed her in silver. Jamie’s pulse jumped when he saw that she wore a nightdress of thin silk. Rows of sheer white lace decorated the rounded neckline, forming a contrast with her tanned skin. A series of tiny, ribboned bows tied the gown in the front. Beneath the bows, Sarah’s breasts rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm that made Jamie’s throat close.

Whoever had donated that particular item of apparel for his wife’s use had earned Jamie’s undying gratitude. He would see that the man was well recompensed. Very well recompensed.

Enjoying the sight of her, he reached for the buttons on the flap of his tattered pants. His nose wrinkled at the scents left on his body from a long day in the hot sun. A quick glance about the cabin found the washbowl and a pitcher of water. Quickly, quietly, Jamie stripped off and sluiced down. His bare feet made no sound on the wooden boards as he returned to stand beside his wife.

She’d flung her arms above her head, and her hair…Sweet heaven above, her hair.

The heavy mass spilled over the side of the bed like a dark red curtain. It gleamed in the moonlight, as seductive and sensuous as Sarah herself. Jamie lifted a thick strand, rubbed it with two fingers and his thumb. Still damp from an earlier washing, the silken end curled wildly in his hand. He felt none of the frizz that often annoyed Sarah so.

He went down on one knee beside her and brought the curling strand to his lips. A scent he hadn’t before
associated with Sarah filled his nostrils. Roses. Damned if one of the crew hadn’t given his wife a gift of rose scented soap.

The men of the
Constant
had provided Jamie’s bride with a most provocative trousseau.

Smiling, he reached for the bows that held the gown together. At the brush of his knuckles against her breast, Sarah came awake with a start. Disoriented, she jerked away from him, or tried to. The strand of hair still wrapped around his hand acted as a short halter.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, sweeting. Hold still.”

“Hold still?” She angled her head, wincing at the pull on her scalp. “I would rather you release me.”

“I will. In a minute.”

The arched line of her throat seduced him. Bending, he took a nip of the smooth, warm flesh.

“Jamie, for heaven’s sake! Release me.”

“In a minute.”

The proper missionary’s daughter surfaced for a moment, submerging the uninhibited lover she had become.

“Is this rough handling what comes with marriage?” she asked, pursing her lips in disapproval. “If so, I don’t think I care for it.”

Grinning, Jamie used the tether to bring her pouting lips to his. “You will, my sweet. Trust me.”

She went still under his roving hands. “Have I a choice after this morning?”

The stark whisper pierced Jamie’s rising heat. He drew back, searching her eyes.

“I know I sprang this marriage on you without warning, Sarah, but it was the only way. Surely you can see that.”

She was silent for so long Jamie began to wonder if she would answer at all. Then a shudder rippled through her, so slight and swift that he almost missed it.

“Yes,” she sighed. “I see that.”

“I’ll do my best to see you don’t regret this forced joining,” he promised fiercely, thinking of the decisions he’d made earlier this morning.

Her face lost its rigid cast. A soft, tremulous smile tilted her lips. “You’re far more likely to regret it than I, sir. Don’t forget, I’m a missionary’s daughter. It’s my duty as a wife to turn my husband from his sinful, sybaritic ways.”

Jamie felt a smile pull at his mouth, as well. “You have my leave to try, sweet Sarah, but you face an impossible task.”