The black swan (48 page)

Alone, Adam stalked the decks searching for some flaw in the fittings or preparedness of the Ullah, shouting irritable orders to the crew, making them check and recheck perfectly sound equipment. Their grumbled comments, spoken to be overheard, only added to his intense ill humor and wounded pride. He had always prided himself that his crews were justly and fairly treated. But despite his constant resolve to improve his temper, the nagging irascibility continued to plague him.

This night, as he had for the past three nights, he churned along the deck, hearing the sounds of Beau's guitar accompanying Dulcie's and Claudine's harmonious singing. The clear feminine voices lent an eerie sadness to the constant smack and wash of the sea against the Vllah's hull. He gazed down into the dark water, feeling

deep inside a cold, heavy loneliness, not unlike hunger, but not to be eased so readily.

He turned his back to the brass ship rail, staring toward the warm sounds of laughter that followed the song. He heard Beau run his fingers across the guitar strings, then begin to form the chords of "Greensleeves." The ache inside grew deeper, and like a man driven, Adam stalked the length of the deck, running from the haunting melody that reminded him of a firelit night when Tom and Ullah danced as Ben and Beau accompanied them on the gourd fiddle and drums. He had danced with Zoe, laughing and teasing as her hair flew wildly. It had been a night bright with happiness—so long ago. All the loving memories were long ago, and somehow lost from him.

He shook himself, annoyed at his self-pitying weakness. Scowling until his dark brows knit themselves into a straight line, he walked purposefully toward the captain's dining room and the music.

Dulcie was perched on a stool near Beau, her brown skirt draped gracefully, her cheeks flushed rosy from her efforts and enjoyment. Her amber-gold eyes met his as he entered. Without thinking, she smiled happily.

They waited expectantly for him to join them. He couldn't. In spite of his determination, he felt no more a part of the festivities now than he had been when standing outside on the deck. Beau looked up at him, his hand faltering on the guitar strings. He began to strum with defiant strokes. "What shall we sing now. Miss Dulcie? Make it somethin' lively and gay." The harshness in Beau's voice heightened the tension that had entered the room with Adam.

Dulcie paused, smiling at Beau, then feigned a delicate yawn. "I'm about sung out, Beau. Maybe tomorrow night, if you'd like."

Adam leaped from his seat, striding the short distance to the door. "Don't stop on my account," he said angrily, slamming the door. He returned to his station on deck, gazing once more into the heaving waters, filled with anger and some unbearable frustration he couldn't name.

He didn't know how long he had stood at the rail, glaring out into the night, before he heard the rustle of skirts behind him. "Well, Captain Tremain, you certainly know how to enliven a party, don't you?"

He pretended he hadn't heard her, didn't know she was

standing so close that the delicate scent of her perfume surrounded him. Driven by her own failure to make anything ever come out right with him, she went on tormenting herself and him. "In less than five minutes you managed to—"

Her words died away as he turned to face her. The light of the waning quarter moon couldn't banish the shadows that hid his fierce, stormy face from her, but it played its ghostly light along his cheek, illuminating the spot where—if only he would smile—a long, deep dimple would appear.

Neither of them moved for what seemed an eternity; she because she was transfixed, and he because above all he thought he wished only to crush her so thoroughly that no thought or sight of her would ever disturb him again.

He seized her by the shoulders, pressing her against him so hard she cried out, a helpless, nearly silent cry, for his mouth covered hers, expressing for him all the ruthless passions she had set loose in him. His arms were around her, holding her viselike until she couldn't breathe. She struggled against him. As quickly as he had kissed her, he released her; and as quickly as she found herself free, she wished herself imprisoned by his arms once more.

"Adam . . ."

He bent his head toward her waiting mouth with a shy, boyish tenderness. There was no force to his kiss now. Silently, by his actions, he was telling her, talking to her, saying all the things she had longed to hear all her life. Dulcie trembled in his caress, then responded with a woman's instinctive recognition of her mate. Her arms encircled his neck as his closed around her, drawing her against him, molding her soft, curving body to his hard, masculine one.

Adam was as shaken as Dulcie. He was reeling with an elated passion he'd never known. It seemed to consume him. She was desirable. He sensed her surrender. He wanted her, and yet there was something deeper that kept him from her. In a welter of confused need and desire for a woman—for the qualities of this woman that made her different from any other he had known—he turned away, closing off all emotion rather than drown in this new feeling.

Dulcie was too happy to see the turmoil on his face or to sense the rigid withdrawal he forced on himself. She

stood beside him, placing her small white hand on the rail next to his muscular tanned one.

Adam stared down at them as though they belonged to two people he had never known. Recoiling, he moved his away from hers.

Dulcie looked up at him and saw there none of the love or tenderness she had been certain of moments before. She stared at him, blinking in hurt amazement. "You . . . did that on purpose 1"

He said nothing.

Nearly in tears, Dulcie cried at him, "You kissed me just to mock me! It meant nothln' to you!"

Adam took a step toward her, reaching out for her hands. "Dulcie—"

"Oh, I do hope you had your fun. Captain Tremain!"

"Dulcie, don't. Listen to me, please."

Tears streamed down her face, but she didn't care. "Never!" she sobbed, and ran pell-mell toward her cabin.

She remained in her cabin for the rest of the trip, venturing out only for meals or in the company of Beau or Claudine. Though he tried at first, Adam couldn't get a moment alone with her. After two days of trying, he decided things were best left as they were. He had recovered from his ill humor; he would forget Dulcie soon enough. Hadn't he always known that virginal girls were the most romantic and least satisfying of all women?

Once Dulcie was delivered safely to her father, he would be free of her, free to seek his pleasure with more accommodating partners.

The last day of the voyage seemed endless. Beau couldn't head the Ullah toward port until dark. A lookout was constantly posted, searching the horizon for ships. Adam didn't worry overmuch about Mr. Lincoln's blockade. At last report the Atlantic Squadron could boast only twenty-two ships to guard the entire coast from Fort Monroe to Key West.

What did worry him was overconfidence. Only carelessness would cause the UUah to be fired upon. It was difficult to keep oneself aware that their worst danger lay in the apparent lack of danger. Neither he nor Beau had any experience in running at night without lights, piloting the river channels with nothing to guide them but the water soundings taken in the dark.

The UllaKs engines kept a steady thrum, the noise

absorbed by the lapping roar of the waves beating against the shore. He had been told that one ship could pass within fifty feet of another in the dead of a moonless night without being seen or heard. He believed it, but he didn't want its truth tested this trip.

Adam acted as pilot. None knew the peculiarities of Southern waters better. With countless adjustments, the Ullah churned toward the black shore, slipping without a scrape into the channel of the Savannah River.

Late as it was, eager faces on the pier gazed up at the ship in hopeful anticipation of a cargo of munitions from England. Told the Ullah carried only passengers, the welcoming committee vanished back to their cots to await the next arrival.

At first light Dulcie and Claudine stood on deck ready to meet Jem. Adam sauntered up to Dulcie's side, offering her his arm. She hesitated, her face stubborn and defiant, then she smiled the closed, polite smile reserved for stuffy dinner partners. She placed her gloved hand on his arm, allowing him to escort her down the gangplank.

"Do you see your father?" he asked as they stepped onto the pier. The wharf area was crowded with drays, carriages, and dock workers. "If we haven't located him within a few minutes, I'll hire a carriage. He may not know when we were due to arrive."

"Don't you bother to keep schedules on the Ullah?" she asked bitingly.

He grinned, appreciating the spirit she showed. He had half-expected her to act the helpless, well-bred young lady. But she had her own sense of pride and honor. "We keep schedules. Miss Moran," he said with measured formality. "But ships like the Ullah run to a schedule of the moon and tides, not the appointment calendar of gentlemen farmers."

"Come, now, Captain Tremain. Are you tryin' to impress me with the danger of our voyage? If so, you needn't bother. We were in no danger whatever. Not once did I see another ship anywhere near to us."

"That, Miss Moran, is the desired object of running at night. Had we seen another ship, most likely it would have been a Federal cruiser eager to blow a sizable hole in th6 Ullah's hull."

"Twaddle."

He laughed. She glanced up at him, then scowled, looking with renewed purpose for her father.

Jem Moran was not certain how to greet his errant daughter, particularly now as he realized she was not only beautiful as ever but she was grown. She was every inch a woman. Seeing her beside the tall, dark-haired captain shook Jem more than he liked.

Dulcie released her hold on Adam's arm and ran to him. "Daddy! Oh, Daddy, I'm so glad to be home!"

Jem held her close, cherishing one of the last moments that she'd ever recognize her father as the man in her life.

After he had kissed her cheeks and wiped away her happy homecoming tears, he greeted a teary Claudine. He thrust out his hand for Adam to shake. "You must come to Mossrose, Captain. We haven't seen you for a long time. Let Mrs. Moran and me thank you properly. Was it an easy voyage?"

"Oh, Daddy, we had to . . . run at night without lights. There were Federal cruisers that might have shot holes through us if they'd seen us. Captain Tremain guided us through all the dangers."

Adam looked at her, one eyebrow raised, a smile playing at the corners of his attractive mouth. "It was an uneventful trip, sir."

"You're just being modest, Captain! You told me before—"

"As you suggested, Miss Moran, I was merely trying to impress you." He grinned lazily.

"Well, you're safe now, and home. That's all that matters," Jem said, interrupting the silent communication that flashed between Adam's and Dulcie's eyes. "How lon^ will you be in port, Captain Tremain?"

"A day perhaps two. We'll take on whatever cargo we can and go out as quickly as possible. The dictates of the moon, sir."

"Then you must be our guest while you're here."

"I'd enjoy that," said Adam regretfully, "but I'm anxious to be on my way. The Ullah is too slow to make an effective blockade runner. My ships are being delivered to Nassau any day. Soon as I leave Savannah, I have a stopover at New Orleans, then I go to Nassau. My return trip will be my first true nm with war supplies. Perhaps then?"

His eyes never left Jem as he. spoke. Then, too soon, they had made their good-byes and Jem's hand was at her elbow, guiding her to the carriage. Dulcie looked back.

"May the road rise with ya, Adam," Jem shouted.

Dulcie waved at him. She wanted to see him again with all her heart, but he'd never have consented to visit Moss-rose had she been the one to invite him. The knowledge left her bewildered and unsure. She had always been victorious in her romantic conquests. Now, when it mattered more than it ever had, cotton and a war had defeated her.

Chapter Twelve

As Adam boarded the XJllah, he was acutely aware of the subtle difference in this trip. When it was over, not only would the Ullah be signed on as a Confederate privateer, but Adam would have officially begun a career as a wartime blockade runner.

It was a dangerous occupation, for the blockade runners used unarmed ships. A hardy, adventurous breed, their most effective and immediate bond was the network of information they shared. In any Southern port, as well as Nassau, Bermuda, Mexico, or Cuba the scuttlebutt was gathered and remembered, the information used to evade prowling Federal gunboats.

Only ten Federal ships patrolled the Gulf of Mexico, guarding Pensacola, Mobile, New Orleans, and Galveston. But they were more dangerous than the larger Atlantic fleet, for there were not the one hundred eighty-nine openings for commerce in the Gulf that there were on the Atlantic Coast.

Adam's greatest security rested in the fact that the Federals were as inexperienced at blockading as he was at running through. They worked in the same pitch-blackness, and on a moonless horizon one ship looked much the same as another. Already tales were told with great hilarity of cruisers who had been tricked into firing upon each other.

In the last moments before they weighed anchor, Adam stood on the bridge with Beau, every muscle tensed, as he waited for time and tide to be right. Except for the comforting thrum of the engines, there was no sound aboard.

. There were only the thoughts of what might happen. The Ullah was loaded to her upper decks with Jem Moran's cotton. Everything Adam and Beau owned would be won or lost on this trip.

Adam gave the last order he could shout aloud. "Weigh anchor!"

They slipped through the first tier of the blockade without unusual incident. Federal lookouts in small rowing barges, moving unseen on the waters, waited to alert the cruisers by rocket flare of the appearance of a blockade-running ship. Adam had vowed he'd make no effort to avoid hitting the small craft should one enter his path; but when the time came, he touched the helm, moving it the two strokes required to avoid the boat. A flare shot up immediately, bursting nearer to one of the cruisers than to the Ullah. Guns peppered the night with grape and canister. A Parrott gun boomed so near, it seemed to be aboard the Ullah with them. Adam held the ship near the coast, then arced her course straight out to sea.