Virgin Star (33 page)

At least ten men jumped down to man the rafts, as futile as that would be. It was dangerous enough to drop from the side and into the ship's wake, but to do so from the bulwark left no doubt there would be little remaining of her to fish out.

Butcher stared at Shalyn, yet saw himself planning a fatal leap some ten long years ago. He remembered the months of despair so deep that no drink, much less daylight could touch it; he remembered the morning he woke to find despair had vanished. Just like that it was gone. And in its place was —nothing: no feeling. A frigid numbness had settled over his heart, mind, and soul; he had been the living dead.

He remembered studying the indifferent face of his death from the top of the cathedral roof when a sudden merciless strength yanked him back from the brink, Seanessy's vicious curses singing loud as he felt the repeated strike of Seanessy's hand, over and over again until something snapped deep inside him. All the bottled rage burst like the gates of a flood-water. He had swung his fist into Sean's face. He went crazy; he had never fought as he did that day, not knowing then how much his adversary enjoyed that kind of once-in-a-lifetime fight; Seanessy broke two of his ribs, his jaw, and his nose; blackened both eyes; and busted a kneecap, and was given as good as he got and still he fought, fought until the two of them collapsed in a bloody pile on top of the cathedral roof. Through swollen eyes, Butcher had turned to see his opponent and savior. With labored breath, Sean managed an introduction.

Seanessy had been laughing. The first time he had looked into Seanessy's bright eyes, Butcher had seen the wonder of Seanessy's great passion for life, like a beacon it was, leading him back from the darkness of hell and into the world again.

That very same light shone in Seanessy's eyes as he made his way through his men, stopping at last by Butcher's side, taking in the whole of the outrageous beauty poised on his bulwark and kept there by nothing more than a wonder of agility and grace. Nothing more. The wind blew her hair back and pressed the cotton shirt against her slim form. Sunlight lit her amber eyes. Never had he seen anything more beautiful than Shalyn at that moment.

Seanessy felt suspended in time; for a moment, time lost its restrained and disciplined meaning and instead became a kaleidoscope to knowledge. He realized everything, all at once: for the first time in thirty-three years he had lost his heart, lost it to this slender unlikely creature with the rich blond hair, dark eyes, and supple lithe form. He was struck as hard and painfully as the shepherd of the Irish myth, and he would pay as dearly for it. The payment would begin now and last forever, for in this moment that her life became far more precious than any other, he would now be forced to watch it slip from his grasp. The novelty and wonder of these realizations passed through him in a rush so fast that all he knew was the desperation to save her and the certainty that he could not.

The moment passed, leaving not a soft sentiment in its wake, but a tremendous murderous rage. Rage filled his chest as wind filled a sail. If she survived this, it would only be to experience a slow and painful death at his own hands. He was going to kill her for this, that was all he knew. He headed right for her.

"Not one more step, Seanessy!"

Seanessy stopped, his entire body going rigid with the lithe tension of a cat a split second from a pounce. No one moved. Though every man on board watched, the silence felt like the eerie echo resonating from a ghost ship: broken only by the whistle of the wind, the frantic flap of sails and slap of ocean water, the sliding of the rafts going down the side.

"Shalyn ..." Their eyes locked, the key thrown away. "Shalyn, you jump down here or so help me God—"

"I have no mind to suffer the sharp bite of your tongue—" The ship gave a sudden lurch, and the girl stumbled. A sick gasp sounded almost collectively. She righted herself quickly and looked determinedly back at Seanessy. "I want only for you to decide for me." With her own anger: "I will not return to England. I must go to Malacca. Take me to Malacca with you, Seanessy, or see me dead!"

"See you dead?" Seanessy laughed, and his eyes narrowed with the pretense of irritation, for he knew this deadly game. "Don't get me excited. If you don't jump down by the count of ten, I'll give you a push!"

Shalyn stared, just stared at the challenge in the hazel eyes. He was bluffing. He had to be bluffing. He would not want her dead!

"You are bluffing!"

He never denied it. "So are you!"

"Nay," she told him in a impassioned whisper carried away in the wind. "I am not! Shall I prove it to you, Seanessy?"

What she did next would be talked about for years.

Shalyn let go of the bulwark.

She stood on the rail balanced by nothing more than a miracle. A miracle that took the men nearly five seconds to realize she did not let go to jump to safety but rather to challenge Seanessy's command. Butcher wondered if he would faint like a palsied wench; his nerves were stretched taut, snapping each second she stood there. Then he realized he was trying to speak, but no sound came from his bone-dry tongue.

Softly, she said, "Take me with you, Seanessy…”

For a tense moment he stared at her, and in that moment he understood he never really had a chance, much less a choice. He had lost his heart and she had won it. He could only stop her from taking this precious piece of his soul with her in death.

"Very well!" he shouted as if she had reduced the emotional wealth of the treasure to little more than irritation. "But know this, Shalyn mine: I am still going to beat you within an inch of your life."

"I knew you were bluffing!"

She almost clapped her hands. She reached for the bulwark as the ship rolled down a huge swell, Shalyn balancing not by magic but by the sheer volume of thousands of hours of the Oriental dance, as if practicing for this very moment. Downside, the ship caught the oncoming swell at its side. The ship lurched. Shalyn grabbed the bulwark, her feet swung out, and more than one man screamed.

Seanessy had leaped into the air.

She stared at the incredible blue wash of the ocean swells before she felt the terrifying slip of her hands. In the same instant Seanessy's hands caught her under the arms. He swung her up and brought her feet to the safety of the deck.

A loud and long cheer went up. Neither Shalyn nor Seanessy noticed. For one magical moment he held her slender frame tight against his chest, so tight he feared he hurt her, and still it was not enough. Not enough to offset the jolt of his heart from that slip. As if life itself had tired of him, playing with her so cavalierly, and she thought to show him the awesome power of her absence. If he lived to be a hundred it would not be enough to offset that jolt.

He finally pulled away to stare down at the lovely eyes, yet careful to keep the slim body aligned to his as he shouted out the order to turn the ship back to its original course. "You know, Shalyn mine, I still mean to beat you for this."

She smiled, happy and relieved—to say the least— and if only her knees would stop trembling, she knew she'd be fine. For she had faced death and lived to laugh again, he had granted her passage to Malacca, and she had bested him, all in one fell swoop. "I'll be sure to put it on my calendar."

Yet his face changed, the hard lines of the handsome features softened and his eyes looked different. The jolt receded, subsiding bit by bit as he stared at her, and in its wake came another jolt, almost as powerful. A jolt of lust, hard and hot lust. He wanted to lay the girl backside to the deck and fill her womanly softness with the hot stamp of his flesh.

Shalyn's face changed with her shock. "Why you are looking at me like that again!"

"Like what, Shalyn?"

"Like . . . like . . . you know like what." She wrenched free of his arms, forcing all the great will of her strength into steadying her wobbly knees. "Keep in mind, Seanessy: I bargained for passage, not, methinks, to audition for a sporting role as your concubine."

With that she turned away and headed to the ladder. A number of interested ears overheard the remark. Hearty laughter erupted all around, more as the words were repeated. Everyone was surprised the captain let her go. Not the least of which was Seanessy. Laughter was not the release he wanted, but then the girl had put her foot down.

Lord, she had pluck.

"Sean," Edward said. "You're not the only man interested in the lass. Recently a Frenchman was waving her picture down at the docks, offering a fifty-pound reward."

He had Seanessy's full attention. "What?"

Edward gave Seanessy the details of the unpleasant exchange with the Frenchman. "So what do you make of that?"

"He claimed she was insane?"

"Aye. Those were his words." Edward studied Sean's thoughtful expression and added, "Think of it, Sean: here we are chasing a Frenchman, one giving the world considerable grief, when we learn of a Frenchman waving a young woman's picture around London offering a fifty-pound reward. I would lay even odds on the proposition that these are one and the same."

"Nonsense," Sean said, dismissing this. "All Frenchmen dish up trouble, if only by forcing the rest of us to endure their malodorous stink. Besides," he added, grinning at the absurdity of it. "The man is married, you know, and probably as queer as an honest lawyer. So, what could our dear duke possibly want with Shalyn?"

Tucker leaned over the spanker ledge as he attempted to secure the knot when a sudden gust of wind swept across the deck and ripped the rope from his hands. The spanker swung in a wild arc across the deck. Sean and Edward ducked just in time. Seanessy stood back up and shouted a mean epithet to Tucker.

Edward shook his head, still uncertain. "I do hope the fates weren't trying to answer the question."

"Far too preposterous, dear Edward." Then an irritated frown appeared. "Though this I know and know for sure—that girl is trouble. The moment I saw her, I knew. Here's a pretty package of trouble, I said. I was so right..."

*****

Chapter10

“
No please... No! No! Please—''

Upon hearing Shalyn's cry, Seanessy set his book down and rose, moving quickly to the door. He opened it and stood there, hands on hips as his gaze swept the surrounding darkness.

A high shriek sounded. "Mercy!"

Seanessy stepped quickly forward, yet stopped as his gaze found her. Beneath the light of a lamp, Shalyn stood near the carpenter's room playing tug-of-war with Oliver. In the instant he realized what had caused the scene: Shalyn had stepped out to get a cup of water. Oliver—one hundred and fifty pounds of dog—had grabbed the rope connecting the water cup with the barrel. Shalyn had valiantly tried to snatch it back.

She was no match for the dog.

Oliver loved his fun. Encouraged by the girl's shriek, he shook again, jerking it free from her hands and barking as she fell backside to the ground.

Seanessy's laughter sounded softly, but it might have been the crash of thunder for all its effect. She leaped back to her feet, startled eyes lifting to his tall form nearby. She felt a familiar queer leap of her heart, followed by the sudden need for more air in her lungs.

Oh, mercy. Mercy. Mercy

"Shalyn." He said her name and stopped just ten feet from her.

The light shone above her head, haloing her in a circle of gold. She wore only a shirt, one of his, he realized distantly, for his mind registered the barest hint of her lovely form beneath the shirt. Registered it physically and made him forget what he was saying, even that he was saying something.

Oliver barked, excited. Seanessy played the best tug-of-war games! The dog dropped the rope, wagging his tail.

Seanessy stepped forward. Shalyn stepped back. She could see his amusement at finding her so. She smoothed a hand along her mass of gold hair-ridiculously, as if it might help.

Anxiously her gaze darted over the empty deck. They were alone. The idea made her nervous, so nervous. The entire voyage she had carefully avoided being alone with him. For even in a crowd of men, she found herself so acutely aware of him, his every word, movement, and gesture, she sometimes wondered if she was losing her mind. He was all she could think about, Seanessy this and Seanessy that, and even when he wasn't nearby, she thought of him with agonizing persistence. As if the very orbit of the sun depended on him.

"I was ... was just getting a drink." The last word sounded in a weak whisper as she saw the way he stared at her. A way that made her remember in vivid detail his kiss the day they had said goodbye.

Seanessy tried desperately to remember every blessed reason he had for keeping his greedy hands from the girl. He tried to recall Butcher's stern lecture delivered as if Sean were a lowly mate with no rating and a dubious employment future. That very first night after what the crew laughingly referred to as the ballsiest besting of the cap'n ever known, he had come out on deck to find Shalyn in a semicircle of his men, men including Ham, Edward, Butcher, and a host of others. They were doing act one of The Merchant of Venice. And so it began, this courting of the girl by his crew. Dozens of the most hardened seamen on earth fought nightly battles for the prize of her laughter.