Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (8 page)

Devon rubbed her toes restlessly against the
buffed floor.

"You behave like a bashful child!" Raveneau
exclaimed sharply. "I have no patience for men who can neither
speak nor move without instructions. I suggest that you straighten
your back and attempt to convince me you are a worthy addition to
my crew."

Shakily Devon raised her head, but knew
better than to throw back her shoulders. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I
want to be a part of the
Black Eagle
more than I can
say."

Raveneau gazed long and hard at his new
surgeon's mate and substitute steward. There was an alarming
softness in his husky voice, and his body and face were
fragile-looking. Such large, luminous eyes!

"How old are you, James?"

"Uh... fifteen, sir."

"I have a feeling that sea life may be
exactly what you need!"

Devon's face grew warm. "I am afraid that I
spent too much time in my father's office, watching him and reading
medical books." What am I saying? she thought hysterically.

"I suppose that will be our gain, James. But,
for the present, there are other matters on my mind. We will be at
sea before dawn and there are things I want done before then.
Minter was boiling water for my bath when he became ill. I want you
to finish that task, prepare my bath, then see to it that the
stores of fresh water are replenished before we weigh anchor. It
may be a long while before we've access to fresh water again, and I
don't like to ration my men."

"Pardon me, sir, but I'd always heard that
was necessary."

"James, you will find that I have some rather
unorthodox policies." Raveneau smiled slightly, but his eyes
remained flinty, tired-looking. "I wish there was time to chat
about all of them, but unfortunately—"

Devon blushed, all too aware of his
sarcasm.

"Sir, where will I find this water for your
bath?" She looked around. "Also, is there a tub here?"

"The water is heated in the galley, the tub
is in the wardroom." He smiled. "All the officers share it, though
few have time for real baths. Luckily, I don't need much sleep, so
I am able to indulge in some luxuries."

Devon longed to banter with him, but she
realized that until they were at sea, her position was extremely
precarious.

"I'll go, then, sir," she declared, backing
away. He made no reply but continued to watch her, so she offered a
clumsy salute, backing into the doorjamb at the same time.

Raveneau grinned, his teeth as white as a
tiger's, eyes sparkling silver. "Fortunately, that gesture is not
required on board the
Black Eagle,"
he told her, highly
amused. Devon's face was burning. She stared at her stockinged feet
as he added irrepressibly, "James, I hope you won't be offended if
I say that it is my ardent hope never to lie under your knife!"

Devon found the wooden tub, dragged it out of
the darkened wardroom and back through the open cabin door.
Raveneau's good humor had vanished. He now sat at his desk, poring
over papers and making notations. Devon shrugged and set off for
the galley, which was located just aft of the crew's quarters. The
wooden buckets held at least five gallons of the steaming water,
she discovered, which splashed over the sides and onto her feet as
she staggered along. It was a mystery to her why any man as
intelligent as the captain would choose a little weakling to fill
his bath! Didn't he realize how difficult it would be? Or was he
just so preoccupied with his own comfort and worries that he had no
time to think of anyone else?

Perspiring, she upended the fourth bucket and
watched with relief as the water level rose. One or two more would
be enough. Devon almost growled at the wide shoulders bent over the
desk, their owner totally oblivious to her suffering as he labored
over a chart, aided by a handsome brass protractor.

I'll fill just one more, she decided angrily.
Let him get more if he wants it!

Arms quivering, she lugged the fifth
bucketful along the starboard gangway. Her breeches and shoeless
feet were soaked by the time she staggered into the cabin, close to
tears. She glanced up and found the tub occupied by Captain
Raveneau.

He was completely naked, his tanned, muscular
back wet and gleaming in the candlelight. Absorbed in the task of
washing, he didn't bother to look up and missed the sight of Devon
weaving sideways into the wall, her eyes round with alarmed
surprise.

"Will you hurry with that water, James? I'd
begun to think you were ladling it into the bucket with a
teaspoon!
"
he shouted, looking over his shoulder with steely
eyes. "I am freezing!"

Devon's knees were wobbly, but she commanded
them to move and reached the tub. It took all her remaining
strength to lift the bucket high enough to pour. Raveneau sighed
with pleasure as the steamy water encircled his body; then he
frowned and re- soaped his sponge.

"You are as slow as an old woman. I'm not
certain that there is a place for you in my crew."

Devon came to life. "Oh, sir, no, please! I
will work hard, I promise you! Don't put me off—I have no place to
go!"

"James, if I took on every homeless boy
roaming this coast, I would not have much of a crew."

"Please, give me a chance!"

Her earnest expression deepened his scowl.
"You even plead like a female," he muttered. "Make yourself useful,
then, and wash my back."

Aghast, Devon felt the soapy sponge drop into
her hand. He had propped a large map in the chair nearby and now
turned his attention to it, while Devon found herself staring at
the brown expanse of back that tapered into narrow hips and hard
buttocks below the waterline. Never in her life had she seen, much
less touched, a man's unclothed body, but before the captain could
reprimand her again, she reached out to rub the sponge over his
skin.

Fleetingly, the face of the soldier who had
tried to rape her jumped into her mind, yet Devon could make no
connection between him and Captain Raveneau. Of course, she would
not want
any
man to touch her as Smythe had, but there
seemed little danger now that she was dressed as a boy! She rubbed
the sponge from side to side, watching the soapy rivulets trickle
over the lean ridges of Raveneau's back. A splendidly made man, she
mused, then chided herself for such an audacious thought. He turned
to retrieve the sponge and Devon scrambled to her feet, standing
awkwardly to one side as he ducked his head under the water. He
rubbed soap into his hair; dark hands were lost in the suds. Devon
saw that his eyes were closed and she let herself stare at him,
memorizing every chiseled line. She glanced down briefly at the
dark blur in the water below his waist, then blushed so profusely
that she had to press her cheek against the cool, damp
bulkhead.

Raveneau finished rinsing his hair. Devon
looked around for towels and found soft linen ones folded on top of
his trunk, elegantly monogrammed. He stood up in the wooden tub,
and she glimpsed a lean, tanned, and powerful body with a great
deal of black hair on it.

Taking the towels, Raveneau said in a voice
both tired and abrupt, "Go to bed. We will weigh anchor in a few
hours."

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."

"Report to me after we are at sea. I'm afraid
Minter won't have recovered by tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Devon was feeling more relaxed
since he had wrapped a towel around his waist. "Good night. And
thank you."

"Don't thank me," he admonished, vigorously
rubbing a towel over his gleaming black hair. "Just prove to me
that you can work like any other man on board the
Black
Eagle."

Making her way back to the crew's quarters,
Devon became aware of the full extent of her exhaustion. Every
muscle ached, along with her head, eyes, and heart. She glanced
into the dark galley in passing and saw a shadowy body. Long arms,
groping hands, surrounded her, but she managed to let out a healthy
scream before a palm closed over her mouth and she was dragged into
the darkness. Devon had never felt so tired and weak; her struggles
were ridiculously ineffectual. The stranger pressed her into a
corner and began to pull wildly at her clothing. One knee jabbed
the intimate places that had already been abused once that day,
while fingers rubbed her breasts, now unbound. Devon heard her
shirt tear. She felt warm tears sliding down her cheeks onto the
hand that covered her mouth.

"Mon Dieu!
What is going on here?"

There was light. Devon could see Captain
Raveneau through a mist of tears, then she saw her attacker. It was
the boy who had been standing watch and had helped her over the
rail. Stunned and frightened, he released Devon. Raveneau caught
her as she fell. The last thing Devon remembered was his arm under
her breasts and a startled, enraged shout.

"It's a girl! Damnation! Who is responsible
for this?"

* * *

The cabin was spinning, then dipping gently,
and Devon opened her eyes. Cool linen caressed her cheek. She could
smell... what, whom? She smiled, closing her eyes again. Raveneau.
From far away voices came to her.

"This time you've gone too far, Jackson.
You've cut your own throat. I don't know why I let you by with so
many breaches of conduct in the past, but never again. Yorktown
will be your last stop."

"Captain Raveneau, you must try to
understand!" It was Caleb's voice, ingratiating yet edged with
panic. "The poor child. Her parents are both dead now, her home
destroyed. You wouldn't have wanted me to leave her there for the
redcoats?"

"I wanted you on board today, where you were
supposed
to be!" Raveneau's voice was dangerously low.
"God's life, Jackson, I cannot run this ship like a mother hen! You
knew my rules when you signed on, yet you've flouted them time and
time again."

"I promise, Captain—"

"Spare me," Raveneau interrupted in a
venomous tone. "I hope you read the Articles of Agreement well
before signing on? They specifically state that any man behaving
indecently toward a woman shall lose his shares
and
receive
whatever punishment I see fit to administer. However, since you
placed the temptation before him, I shall let Greenbriar keep his
one meager share. He'll stand on deck with you tomorrow and take
five lashes, though."

There was a long, tension-laden pause. Devon
struggled to clear her mind and make sense of this
conversation.

"What of me, sir? How many lashes will I
receive?" Caleb was asking.

"Five. You will lose your shares as well,
Jackson, and leave the ship when we reach Yorktown. If you cause
trouble in the meantime, I'll put you adrift at sea.
Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Caleb said acidly.

"That's all. Tell Mr. Lane I want to see
him."

Devon listened to the receding footsteps and
tried to ascertain whether or not the
Black Eagle
was
underway yet. Was it morning? Were they at sea? Or had only a short
while passed? Did Raveneau intend to put her ashore? She kept her
eyes closed and listened. The cabin swayed to and fro, but Devon
was certain the privateer was not moving forward. She cautiously
opened one eye and peeked through a haze of lashes. The cabin was
dark, except for the lantern which hung over Raveneau's desk. So it
was still night He was sitting in the leather wing chair, garbed in
a gray, soft-looking dressing gown. Devon strained her eye; it
appeared that Raveneau wore nothing beneath his robe. He was
holding a fresh snifter of cognac, his tanned, handsome legs
stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Abruptly he turned his
head and stared hard at Devon; she squeezed the eye closed.

"Eh bien.
Are you awake?" Raveneau
crossed the cabin and leaned over her. "Damn, what did Jackson say
her name is?" he muttered. "Wake up,
petite chatte."

Across the cabin, someone coughed. "Excuse
me, Captain."

"Come in, Mr. Lane. Have you heard what has
happened?"

"Bits and pieces, sir."

Devon heard Raveneau walk toward the other
voice, and reopened her eye a fraction. Mr. Lane must be the first
officer, she guessed. Raveneau had paused to light a cheroot, and
now he paced back and forth across the cabin, glancing her way so
frequently that Devon decided to be safe and close her eyes
completely.

"That damned Jackson reappeared a few hours
ago and, like a fool, I let him come aboard. After I returned to my
cabin, he apparently sneaked this
female
on—had her in the
crew's quarters, no less, wearing pants and a red cap! Told me she
was a surgeon's mate!" His voice grew more harsh with each
sentence. "Minter is ill, so I went over to the crew's quarters' to
recruit someone to take his place. This little hooligan prepared my
bath! No wonder it took so long!"

Devon swallowed a bubble of laughter.

"Jackson tells me he had confided this plot
only to the men on watch, so that they would help him get her on
board. That drooling pup Greenbriar came below and waylaid the girl
as she passed the galley."

"Was that the scream I heard?" Lane inquired
expressionlessly, as though they were discussing wind
directions.

"Yes. She had just left here. I had been
suspicious about her... but I'll admit I didn't guess she was
actually a girl. When I saw the new 'surgeon's mate' with
Greenbriar, I thought we had a different sort of problem."

Raveneau stopped next to Lane, and now they
lowered their voices so that Devon could only make out snatches of
their conversation.

After a minute or two Mr. Lane said in a
clear, stiff voice, "As you wish, sir."

Devon heard him leave. The silence that
followed made her uncomfortable. There was not a sigh or a scrape
or a step. Had they both gone? She counted to one hundred. Nothing
but the sound of water sloshing against the
Black Eagle's
hull. Cautiously, Devon opened one eye a fraction. There was no
sign of him. She decided to shift positions. With a dramatic moan,
she stretched and rolled slowly onto her side. Another peek from
this new angle. He was not in the leather chair or at the desk or
table. He must have gone out with Lane, his bare feet making no
sound.