Chapter 10

10

S everal days had passed following the incident with the sailor who had been caught stealing, and since, Captain MacGalloway had scarcely looked Isabella’s way. Of course, he had been cordial enough. After all, she dined in the man’s cabin every evening, but gone was the cocksure Scot who had captured her hair and drawn it to his lips. Neither had she seen the man who had kissed her forehead when she secretly desired more. And nowhere aboard this ship was the swaggering lord who had tricked her into wagering a kiss.

And she desperately wanted to see that chap again.

Except she should not.

She ought to be happy with the fact that he had grown aloof and seemed to never be on deck when she took a stroll out of doors. Isabella had done her best to pay attention during the evening meals when the men discussed the repairs that would be needed the next time they were in port, or the carpenters needed aboard, or the fact that Duncan had tied a thumb knot rather than a double Carrick bend when he secured the spritsail, which had come loose and caused a significant stir among the crew, not to mention a delay.

Yes, she had paid attention, but that was about all she could do, given Duncan obviously knew far more about tying knots than she ever would. Isabella had followed every conversation while stealing glimpses of the dashing captain out of the corner of her eye. To her chagrin, never once did he look her way. Well, he greeted her when she entered and said goodnight when she left, just as he did to every other person who came and went from his cabin.

But that is how it should be, is it not?

She groaned as Maribel tugged the laces on the gown Isabella would be wearing to dinner.

“I’m sorry, miss. The pitching of the ship made me jolt.”

It had rained quite a bit today, and the seas were white-capped and angry. “Not to worry,” Isabella replied, quite glad that Maribel had no clue as to what had caused her to groan in the first place. “Have you been spending time with Mr. Erskine?”

The laces cinched tighter, this time causing a well-deserved oomph . “We usually meet for the noon meal.”

“How lovely.” Isabella stretched her shoulders to enable herself to take in a deep breath. “Are you growing fond of him?”

“I daresay I am,” the lass replied, a touch of sorrow in her tone.

“You’re not thinking of leaving me alone with Mr. Schuyler, are you?”

On a sigh, Maribel tucked in the laces. “Oh heavens, of course not. I couldn’t ever do such a thing.”

Turning, Isabella grasped her maid by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Well, if you decide to follow your heart, please know that I would never stand in your way.”

“Truly?” The maid took a step away and shook her head. “I am in service. My mother and her mother before me were in service, and you have always been so kind to me. I could not turn my back, especially at a time when?—”

The cannonball churned—the same one that had been lodged in Isabella’s stomach since her father’s announcement. “Hmm?”

“You’ll be alone in a strange land. I reckon you will need me more than ever.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Isabella pressed her fingers against the ache. “But I do believe Mr. Erskine will be back in America at some point. The Prosperity sails to and fro, bringing MacGalloway whisky from Scotland and returning home with American cotton. Your paths may cross again.”

“True. It would be nice to see the crew as well as Mr. Erskine. Mayhap they will not forget us.”

“Let us hope Mr. Erskine doesn’t forget you . One day he might make his fortune and kiss the sea goodbye.”

“And you were born with stars in your eyes. He’s as likely to make a fortune as I am.”

“I’m not so certain. Captain MacGalloway could find treasure and share it with his men.”

“Very well, I shall add the discovery of treasure for the crew of the Prosperity to my nightly prayers.”

Making her way to the captain’s cabin, Isabella chuckled. As always, she gave a little knock, though His Lordship never actually answered the door.

Except for tonight.

As soon as those fathomless blue eyes met hers, she couldn’t hold in her gasp. Captain MacGalloway stood motionless for a moment, staring with a most discombobulating intensity. “Good evening, Miss Harcourt.” As if he hadn’t been staring, he bowed like a man who had been trained to exhibit impeccable manners—which, of course, as the son of a duke, he had been. “Have the rough seas made you queasy?”

She patted her stomach. “Actually, I’ve been so absorbed in my translations today, I’ve hardly noticed, aside from the inconvenience of having to keep everything in a box to ensure it didn’t fall off the writing table.”

He stepped away and gestured inside. “Duncan will be bringing the meal up shortly. I’m afraid we’ll be having cold fare tonight—ship’s biscuits, as always, but served with butter and plum jam. There ought to be some cold chicken as well. ’Tis too dangerous to light the hob when the seas are this rough.”

She weaved her way to her place at the table, noting that she was the first to arrive. “Where are the other officers?”

“Tending to their duties, as I should be doing as well.”

“You should?”

“As soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll go out to inspect the deck. They’ll send someone to fetch me if I’m needed beforehand.” He held her chair—something Mr. Lyall usually did. “Please, have a seat. Can I pour you a mug of wine?”

“Mug?” she asked.

“I dunna allow glasses in rough seas, lass.”

“Then yes. Wine would be lovely, thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder, realizing she’d never been alone with the captain in his cabin before—at least not with the door closed. “You said Duncan would be bringing the food soon?”

He pulled the stopper out of the bottle and filled her mug. “Aye.” Then he poured for himself, giving her a glance, a bit of a spark returning to his eyes—or had the light from the lamp swinging above caught the glint just right? “Would you prefer to take your meal elsewhere?”

She sipped the wine while the patter of rain pelted the windows. “Not particularly.” After all, they had been in her cabin alone with the door closed and it hadn’t caused a scandal. Surely her husband-to-be would understand that guests aboard this ship took their meals with the captain, and his officers mightn’t always be present—not that she’d ever willfully declare such a thing to Mr. Schuyler.

The ship listed so far starboard that she was forced to clamp both hands on her mug while the liquid sloshed and the chair beside her toppled backward. “Oh my,” she said, starting to rise, but the captain placed his large hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll fetch it. Drink your wine before it spills.”

Isabella took a healthy sip. “Do you think we’ve come through the worst of the storm?”

He replaced Mr. Lyall’s chair where it belonged, then slid back into his seat. “I hope so, but the skies are awfully dark. At least I reckon it shouldn’t get much worse…unless we’re unfortunate enough to be sailing into the eye of a hurricane.”

“Hurricane?” she asked, clapping a hand to her chest. Everyone knew a hurricane was absolutely one of the worst calamities that could befall a ship.

The captain shuddered. “That word is worse than a curse. And this is just a fierce summer storm. Mark me.”

“I truly hope you are right.”

The door swung open, and Duncan tottered in, carrying a tray. “Here we are—jam, biscuits, and a bit of cold chicken, compliments of Cookie.”

His Lordship tapped the center of the table. “Put it here, son.”

As Duncan did as he was told, Captain MacGalloway patted the lad’s shoulder—not a thwack like you’d normally see a man give to a lowly cabin boy, but his touch imparted a deep sense of caring. “Are your chores done, laddie?”

“Aye, all except the washing up.”

“Well, do what you must, then head for your hammock. I dunna want you on deck when the wind’s blowing a gale and the rain’s coming down in sheets.”

“But I’m needed to man the yardarm of the foresail.”

“You’re needed for far more than tending sails, lad. Now go on and do as I say.”

Duncan cast a flabbergasted look to Isabella and rolled his eyes. “Aye-aye, Cap’n.”

The man picked up his mug and grinned behind it as the little chap took his leave.

“I believe you have developed quite a fondness for that boy,” Isabella said.

“Duncan?”

“Yes. You are aware that he looks up to you?”

A deep crease formed between the captain’s eyebrows. “I suppose it is natural for him to do so. After all, he is an orphan.”

“Poor lad—growing up on a ship is no kind of childhood.”

Captain MacGalloway glanced her way while a dark shadow crossed his face. Something she’d said bothered him deeply, yet judging by the white lines forming around his lips, Isabella didn’t feel comfortable pursuing the conversation further.

They ate in silence for a time, the captain’s visage gradually becoming less brooding.

With the ease of tension in the air, he sat back and rubbed his belly. “You mentioned that you’ve been spending a great deal of time working on your tablets. Tell me, what have you found?”

She smiled, always at ease when talking about her tablets. “Well, I believe I’ve pieced together part of another—our man and Flavia’s son’s name is Titus.”

“How fabulous. Is that as much as you’ve restored, or is there more?”

“A little more—our man wishes he were home so that he can teach his son how to ride a pony and wield a sword.” Isabella dabbed the corner of her mouth with her serviette and neatly folded it. “Oh, and he tells Flavia not to let Titus become a soldier. The Roman wants his son to become a learned man of books and scrolls.”

“I think if I were to have a son, I’d tell him the same. War is brutal, and it leaves men with scars no one can see.” Gibb waggled his flaxen eyebrows. “I wonder what your Roman’s name is.”

Ah, he’d caught her reference to “her Roman,” as she’d come to think of the man who appeared to have been wrongly enslaved. “As do I.” Isabella popped the last bit of biscuit into her mouth. “Oh, and this tablet mentions that he has been away for five years.”

“Dear God, that is a long time to suffer.”

“And he could have done so for far longer, the poor ma—” As she spoke, the ship listed so far to port that the back legs of her chair came off the ground. Screaming, she planted her hands on the table, trying to hold steady while the dishes were hurled to the floorboards and shattered.

The ship violently rocked toward the starboard side, making Isabella lose control. Flinging her hands over her head to protect herself from a fall, she screamed again as her chair toppled backward. Her backside lost purchase with the chair. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact.

But miraculously, the captain’s powerful arms encircled her, pulling her close. He held her securely against his chest for a moment, standing firm as if the ship weren’t rocking from port to starboard. Those fathomless blue eyes stared into hers, harboring a thousand secrets and unspoken desires.

“In rough seas, always remember to bend your knees and ride the waves,” he softly growled beside her ear.

If her chair hadn’t almost toppled and cracked her head on the floorboards, Isabella was certain she would have swooned. Instead, she struggled to catch her breath, curling into his warmth, jolting at the bangs and booms sounding around them. She glanced to the floor. If only Captain MacGalloway would hold her forever. “Once you set me down, I shall give it a try.”

He obliged, leaving her feeling cold, but he didn’t step away. Instead, he kept hold of her elbow with a firm hand. “Easy, lass —ye must move with the tempest, lest it get the better of you,” he said as if the entire case of books hadn’t just crashed to the floor.

Trembling, she closed her eyes and tried to make her knees unlock. “L-like this?”

“Aye. Now breathe in.”

She tried to draw a deep breath but only managed a sharp inhalation. Blast it all if Maribel hadn’t tied her stays too tightly.

“And out,” he said. “Focusing on your breathing will calm your nerves.”

But by the groaning of the planks below their feet, Isabella was anything but calm, regardless of how many breaths she took. “Are we going to die?”

“Not on my watch.”

“Shipwrecked, then?” she asked, her voice incredibly shaky.

“Nay. The Prosperity has met with worse than this.”

She whimpered as he bent down and gathered her into his arms once again. “I must head for the helm at once,” he said, carrying her to her cabin. “I strongly advise you to pull the bedclothes over your head and stay put until the storm has passed.”

“Mayhap I should fetch Maribel.”

“That would be a verra good idea.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “What must you remember?”

“To fetch Maribel?”

“Bend your lovely knees—and your lady’s maid must do the same.”

“Yes, I’ll bend my knees.” In truth, she’d figured out that rule of sailing on the first day, but it was rather difficult to do when one was being thrown about the cabin like a doll.

“Grasp the latch.”

“What?”

“Before I put you down, you must first grasp the latch of your door. Doing so will help you balance.”

She reached for it, and her feet slowly descended.

“You will be safe here, ye ken, do you not?”

As she touched the floor with her back to him, she gave a nod, wishing he would stay, but knowing she had no right to ask.

He pressed his lips to her neck and lingered for a moment. Sighing, Isabella leaned her head back against his mighty chest, drawing from his strength, his warmth.

“Do not leave the safety of your cabins. If the storm should grow worse, I’ll come for you. Agreed?”

“Yes,” she whispered, forcing herself not to turn around and wrap her arms around him.

And then he was gone—that heavenly, warm body was no longer pressed against her back. Cold and trembling, Isabella clung to the latch and looked toward Maribel’s door.

Just a few paces.

The ship wildly listed from port to starboard as she hastened there, balancing by placing her hands against the walls. “Maribel!” she shouted over the roar of the tempest, pounding on the door. “Are you in there?”

When there was no answer, Isabella feared the worst and flung it open. “Maribel! Where are you?”

She lost her hold on the latch, and the thrust of the ship sent her careening into the wall. Isabella barely had time to gather her wits before she heard a thunderous boom and the shattering of glass coming from her own cabin.

“Dear God, no!”

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.