Chapter 4
Chapter
McGann takes in a deep breath that does not do a goddamned thing to calm him. Rogers, his first mate, stands beside him, staring wide-eyed at the sight of the woman stuck between the upper and lower decks of The Elphame.
The rest of the crew will notice soon enough, and then, he knows from experience, all hell will break loose. Sailors do not take well to stray ladies in their midst. Even land-lubbers know women aboard a ship are bad luck.
And she, in particular, is bad luck for him.
She’s been a menace to his well-being ever since the moment he’d laid eyes on her six months ago in the dark alleyway outside Nowhere, the London tavern run by his sister.
He flicks his gaze backward to the coastline that has now fully receded from view. They’ve come too far to turn back now. Especially after they lost yesterday to the storm that blew in overnight. And his own ridiculous behavior, not that he’s going to think about that now.
He’s going to… glower.
And then he’s going to figure out how to remove Catherine West from his ship. Somehow, someway, she is not staying on board.
“You cannot be here, lass,” he says.
“But I am here. And,” she shimmies again, trying to free herself. A sight which, Elphame help him, he should avert his eyes from.
But devil be damned if he’s going to. He enjoys the way her body moves far too much to look away. There is also a small part of him, not the noble part, that enjoys watching her stuck in the decking of his ship.
The Dutch have a word for that specific kind of unkindness, he’d heard it once from an old crewmate: leedvermaak.
He’s always remembered it because neither Gaelic nor English has an equivalent, but they should.
Pleasure derived from another’s misfortune; it’s practically the English national pastime.
Serves the lass right to be stuck.
“If you could just lend a hand, please?” Catherine says. “I really do seem to be wedged in here.”
Rogers steps forward to offer his assistance, but a single glare from McGann freezes the man mid-step. He settles quickly back by McGann’s side.
“Why,” McGann tries again, sucking air in through his teeth in an effort to calm himself, “are you not on your honeymoon, Menace? You did marry, did you not?”
She opens her mouth to speak, and he finds himself staring at it. He’s… goddamnit… he’s holding his breath, waiting on her answer.
“I did not,” she says, and he absolutely ignores the swell of relief that washes over him. “Not that it’s any business of yours, to be sure. But I had a change of heart. Or mind, rather. I suppose heart didn’t play into it much.”
Her eyebrows furrow then, and the light in her bright blue eyes dims.
“Did he hurt you?” he grinds out before he can stop himself.
“No.” She pauses. “It isn’t important.” And then she squares her shoulders as well as she can, being stuck in a hatch, and visibly squelches whatever emotion he’s just seen on her face.
She pastes on that bright smile instead. He hates that smile. He’s seen the real one before, and he knows what it looks like. It’s not whatever she’s doing with her lips now. Whatever the hell she’s doing now makes him angry. Like everything about her makes him angry.
Especially the fact that she’s on his ship! When she should have been doing them both a favor by getting married.
“How,” he asks, trying and failing to rein himself in, “is it not important that you failed to marry? Ye were at the church. All done up in yer wedding dress and yer frippery and yer gold hair glitter. I saw ye there meself. Ye canno’ just change yer mind after all that!”
He stops, realizing just how much he’s let his control slip. He glances over at Rogers, who raises his eyebrows in a question. Which he ignores. He shouldn’t have said anything about his foray to the church yesterday. No one needed to know.
Breathe, eejit, he commands himself.
“And what do you mean,” he turns his attention back to Catherine, “that you’re my investor?”
“One thing at a time,” she says, and he knows she isn’t going to let it go. That yesterday morning he’d been at the church where he shouldn’t be, watching a lady he shouldn’t have been watching, with his heart burrowing deep down into his guts where it shouldn’t be located.
“First of all,” she continues, “that was you at the church. I thought it was. What were you doing there?”
“Rogers,” he says in lieu of answering. “Gather the men to inspect the mast.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Rogers hurries away, shooing any roaming sailors in front of him as he goes.
McGann had been slightly worried about hiring the man on as the first mate because he’d never sailed with him before, but there wasn’t much he could do about it after spending four years on dry land.
He had to take what sailors he could. But watching him now, McGann thinks Rogers was the right choice. Good. One less thing to worry about.
“What’s wrong with the mast?” Catherine asks, returning his attention to her. Which is where it ought to be. He definitely has to worry about her.
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you send the men over there?”
“Because I do not want them peering up your skirts, Menace. Or have you not realized that’s the position you’ve put yourself in? You cannot be on this ship full of men.”
“Of course I can. I can be here as well as any of you. If you could just—well. As I said before, if you could just help me out.”
McGann sighs, fighting the urge to leave her right where she is. Trapped and unable to get into any more trouble. But he can’t. Of course he can’t.
He extends his hand down to hers and pulls, but she doesn’t budge. He pulls again, harder, which only elicits a strangled, “Ow!” from her.
“You’re well and truly stuck.” He tilts his head and stares. “Like a damned cat with its head in a banister. How did you even manage it?” He looks closer. “And why are you wearing my peacoat?”
“I was cold. And I was in a hurry because you were yelling at me. And—” Catherine’s brow furrows. “My stays are loose in the back, and I had to cover them. It’s easier to loosen them, it seems, than to do them back again.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
She has no idea what a man’s mind might do with the idea of loosened stays. He’s certain of it. He stifles the groan rising in his throat and pushes away the pictures his imagination is helpfully providing.
“Are you telling me that you didn’t bring any other clothes except for what you’re wearing? Ye’re still in yer wee blasted wedding gown, Menace!”
“I may not have planned this out as thoroughly as I’d have liked.” She pauses. “Did you know your Gaelic comes out stronger when you’re upset about something?”
“It doesno’!”
Damnit.
Now he’s yelling at her. He doesn’t want to, although, he reminds himself, he has every right to.
The bloody lass is a stowaway on his ship.
But he summons every ounce of will he has and steps away from her.
Otherwise, he’s afraid he might strangle her.
Or kiss her. Or rip her out of the hatch and toss her overboard.
Maybe all of those things at once if he could manage it.
He’s dexterous; he could probably manage it.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen now,” he says slowly instead.
“I’m going below, where I’ll help you out of the bind you’ve got yourself in.
Then I’ll give you a single pair of trousers and a single shirt, which you will wear for the next ten days until we reach Boston.
You will stay in my cabin. You will stay out of trouble.
You will not touch a single thing aboard this ship.
You will not speak to the crew. You will do nothing but eat, sleep, and follow my directions. Do you understand?”
“I’m already in your cabin.” Catherine’s damnable blue eyes are twinkling in a way he tries not to notice. “So, in that matter we’re in perfect accord.” But then she furrows her brow again. “It will only take ten days? It took Violet six weeks to cross the Atlantic.”
“The Elphame has the power of steam, lass. Makes us the fastest on the water.”
He stares as her expression changes again and grows pensive, and then asks in spite of himself, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t realize I’d have a new life so soon. Imagine it. I’ll be a Yankee in only ten days, just like Mother and Aunt Nora and Violet. It’s exciting, if a little daunting.”
The smile she gives him this time is the real one; the one that makes her eyes brighten with mischief and crinkle at the sides. He loves that smile, Elphame help him, although he abhors what she just said.
That she’s headed to America. Alone. Where any goddamned thing could just up and happen to her.
Not that you care, you daft cove.
He doesn’t. He can’t. Catherine West is not his problem, and he has no intention of letting her become so.
“Put that grin away, Menace,” he says, distinctly aware it’s doing something to his insides that it oughtn’t to be doing. “Or I’ll throw you in the goddamn brig.”