Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
G race looked around at the small cabin from a new perspective. She was to stay in there, unless Lord Carew decided to escort her on deck? She would go mad! The tiny space could be paced off from end to end in four steps and there was no light or window to see from!
Then he had been short and angry with her, as if she had done it on purpose!
Her own anger grew. He refused to set her down in England, then wished to treat her like a prisoner, regardless of what he said.
Even though she knew her anger was more directed at herself for having fallen asleep and no one remembering to wake her, she still had to vent her frustration, and he was the target before her. He could make things better now, but refused to. He could not turn around, he said. Would not , she corrected.
Well, she did not want to stay in the small, dark cabin. Defiance was not a natural inclination for Grace, and her sisters were the only ones who had ever seen such a thing from her, but these were certainly trying circumstances. She felt completely justified in the emotion.
Grace picked up Theodore and cracked open the door for light, then paced back and forth in the tiny space as she deliberated what to do. Only a monster would expect her to stay locked away in this room. As if he would make more than a few minutes here and there to escort her about the ship. He’d been angry, which was a side of him Grace had never seen before. It was frightening, if she were being honest, and made her wonder how much she really knew about him. Had his charming care-for-not facade been just that—an act?
“Begging your pardon, miss,” a high-pitched Irish voice cracked from behind as she was on one of her circular routes.
Grace turned to find a freckle-faced, carrot-topped boy of perhaps ten years holding a tray.
“I’ve your breakfast, miss, if you will follow me.”
He kept his head down and did not look at her. How odd. She was allowed to leave the cabin, after all? Surprising, but a small victory. Was there a dining room?
He led her to the door adjacent to hers labelled Captain , which opened up into a room thrice the size of her own. Bright windows greeted her on the far wall, while on one side there was a smaller room of sorts that looked to be a bed built into the wall, and on the other side there was a desk and cupboards. A table stood in the centre of the room, which was where he placed her tray.
“There you are, miss. Will you be needing anything else?” he asked nervously, not meeting her gaze. Perhaps he was not often around females.
“Actually, if you could take Theo to wherever cats may do their business, I would be most grateful as I am not supposed to venture out on my own.”
The boy’s face lit up at the sight of the kitten. He seemed to forget he was shy.
He held out his hands, and he smiled as he took Theo from her. “Aw, you’re a little feller, aren’t you?”
“Do you know where to take him?” she asked.
He nodded and scratched the kitten’s chin. “We have other cats in the hull to keep the mice and rats out. They have a place. I’ll make sure and bring him back when he’s done.”
“Thank you…” She trailed off, hoping he would tell her his name but she very well understood bashfulness and perhaps he needed encouragement. “I am Grace. Do you mind telling me your name?”
Suddenly, he remembered to be afraid of her. “Paddy,” he replied, not meeting her eyes.
“Paddy, I am sure he will enjoy a few minutes to stretch his legs and play.”
She cast him her biggest smile, hoping at least to have one friend amongst the crew. He was certainly less intimidating than the others she’d met thus far.
Paddy blushed. “Yes, miss,” he said, then escaped with Theodore.
Grace tucked into her food. She was more hungry than she cared to admit. It was porridge, which her sisters hated, but she never minded.
“What did you do to that poor boy? He looked moonstruck with a smile as wide as the Atlantic.”
Grace stiffened at Carew’s voice.
“I did nothing more than greet him and ask him to take Theodore for a turn.”
Carew snorted then sat across from her with his own tray.
“A captain retrieves his own meals?”
“Normally, no, but my cabin boy was redirected to another task.”
Grace smiled with satisfaction. She’d actually done something a bit naughty. Joy and Patience at least would be so proud.
“That’s to be the way of it then?” Carew was looking at her in a new way with one brow raised inquisitively.
She tried not to blush, but was likely unsuccessful. She’d had a bit of an infatuation with him—especially the first Season when he’d been part of their rescuers, as she liked to think of them, and her sisters had teased her maliciously ever since. But who could blame her? Even though he’d shown no interest in her at all, he was a beautiful man. Darkly dangerous with black hair and startling blue eyes, paired with his somewhat secretive and roguish demeanour and—Grace could not explain why she was attracted to such a man. She knew she was too shy and mousy to ever catch someone like him. Really, it would not be a comfortable match and she appreciated that now. But that never stopped foolish girls from daydreaming, did it? Grace was always bold and beautiful in her dreams.
“You are eating that porridge as if it’s your last meal,” Carew observed.
“I happen to enjoy porridge, and it is hardly gentlemanly of you to say so.”
Carew looked at her with amazement.
“Is something lodged in your throat, my lord?”
“I do not think I’ve ever heard anyone say they enjoy porridge. The crew complains mightily about it.”
“For a time before Lady Halbury took us in, it was the only thing we could afford. I chose to appreciate it instead of the alternative.”
He shook his head, then took another bite, still looking a bit perplexed.
Grace finished her bowl and dabbed at her mouth with the napkin provided. It was all rather civilized yet also uncomfortable, eating alone with this man. “Do you normally take meals by yourself?”
“Normally, the first mate joins me. But as you can see, he is not with us this time. His mother was ill and he stayed behind with her.”
“I hope she improves.” Grace could think of nothing more to say. Now that she had nothing more to eat, she felt awkward sitting in his presence. She’d never been a scintillating conversationalist with anyone except perhaps her sisters, where the wall disappeared that normally surrounded her with strangers. In one aspect, she should be grateful that the Captain was Carew, not someone completely unknown to her. But then again, it had to be Carew who she’d been enamoured of that first Season. Had he realized? In her mind, she’d made an utter fool of herself. With him, she’d either been too tongue-tied to speak, or what she did manage was something stupid and trite.
Part of her was still angry that he would not set her down at the nearest port. But the other sympathetic, rational part of her also understood why he would not. First there was his urgent matter, then there was Westwood. If Carew left her at some strange port and expected her to find her way back, Westwood would be furious. If she’d been stranded with rough sailors, it would’ve been one thing, but Carew was one of his closest friends.
She would simply have to think of Carew like one of her new brothers. She was not so shy around them, was she? Well, Rotham was very intimidating. She still did not speak much around him.
“How long will the journey take?” she finally asked after she could no longer take the silence.
“A week, give or take.”
“Why does it take so long to go to Ireland? It does not look far on the map.” She glanced over to the map on the wall above Carew’s desk.
“It’s over five hundred nautical miles and at five to seven knots per hour, that means it takes nigh seven days.”
Grace could only swallow hard. She was to be trapped in that dark, tiny cabin for seven more days? “Be that as it may, I must insist I be allowed to leave the cabin.”
“Insist, do you?” He looked amused at Grace’s bravery.
She thrust her chin up. “For one, I will need an endless supply of candles. For two, I do not need to be confined like a prisoner. I am very well-behaved.”
“Unlike Joy, who I would have expected to find herself in an imbroglio like this.”
“Well, yes.” No disrespect to Joy, but she did always find herself in scrapes.
“Very well, then. I will allow you to use my cabin during the day so you might have light and more room. The first mate’s cabin is normally never used for anything but sleep. However, you may still not venture to the deck without my escort. It is not your behaviour that concerns me.”
Grace was not certain what did concern him, then. She knew she should be happy for her small victory, but it was difficult not to rebel at the confinement. “And how often will that be?”
He stood and chucked her under the chin—as if she were a small child!
“Whenever the notion takes me,” he said in his deepest Irish brogue, then left. If only she’d had something to throw at him, she would have. So she told her inner bold self.
Ronan chuckled despite himself as he closed the door behind him, his anger dissolving. He’d seen a new and unexpected side of Grace Whitford. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks took on a bloom that made her dangerously attractive. Apparently all it took to make her forget her meekness was to anger her. Well, he foresaw a great deal of that in the upcoming days. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. She would at least be a more entertaining companion, but there was no place in his heart for more than that.
The poor innocent did not understand the likely repercussions of being alone together on a ship with him. He desperately hoped it would not come to her ruination and that Westwood and her family would be able to concoct an eventuality that even the servants would believe. But that would require a miracle, and Ronan did not believe in them. He could not imagine a worse fate than a woman being tied to him in marriage for life, especially someone meek and quiet. He’d done little to earn his roguish reputation, but neither had he ever bothered to dispel it. Perhaps if they could reach land quickly and send word, he and she could escape the parson’s noose. Because it would be a noose—for both of them.
If it came to it, he would give her his name, but only his name.
What could he do to keep her content until they reached Ireland? At least there, his mother and sister would be able to take care of her until she could be reunited with her family. Hopefully, Maeve would take to Grace and forget about Flynn…if it wasn’t already too late.
Now to pacify his crew, most of whom were waking to this news. He intended to keep her far away from them. Not that he expected any of his men to disobey him or try anything with her. His next point of business was to convince them they were not all doomed because there was a lady on the ship. Most sailors were superstitious as a lot, but to be Irish and a sailor…’twould be nigh impossible to convince them. But he had to try.
He’d already had to bribe Paddy to take a tray to Miss Grace, but since she’d given him the task of helping with the kitten, the boy seemed to have decided she was well enough.
The thought of anyone being afraid of Grace Whitford was laughable. A quieter, sweeter lass than her he’d yet to meet. Perhaps he could draw her out more.
Thank God O’Brien and Kelly had not decided to toss her overboard last night. Apparently, she’d convinced Kelly to take the kitten to relieve himself, which was unbelievable in and of itself. He’d take any small favours at the moment.
Most hands were on deck going about their morning chores as he gained the quarter-deck. They were a rough lot, his crew—a patchwork of hardened, weathered faces each carrying the marks of hard work. There was Murphy, the grizzled boatswain with a voice that could be heard even in the fiercest squall, his tangled beard streaked with grey and his nose permanently reddened by years of rum and biting winds. O’Brien, his second mate, with an uncanny ability to spot danger long before it appeared, had a lined, weathered face from years in the elements. Then there was Kelly, the quiet navigator whose shoulders were broad from years of breaking horses.
As he surveyed the scene, he wondered what Grace had made of them when she’d awoken and encountered them alone last night. He imagined her taking in the rough edges and gruff demeanours with fear. The crew was a far cry from the refined gentlemen to which she was accustomed in Mayfair. These men had bawdy ways, and their manners were non-existent.
He could almost see her now, standing at the edge of the deck last night, her gloved hands clasped in front of her as she tried to reconcile the tales she’d read of pirates in her novels with the reality before her. How out of place she must have felt when she first stepped aboard his ship, surrounded by these rough, coarse men.
“The weather’s a-changin’. I can feel it in me bones,” Kelly prophesied.
“Of all the times to need good weather, this is it,” Ronan said.
“You should drop the chit at Portsmouth or Plymouth,” O’Brien warned.
“The ship is not cursed because she is on board. That is an old wives’ tale. And you know why I cannot take the time to do it. Besides being the ward of one of my closest friends, who would run me through if I did such a thing, I cannot give Flynn any further time. He does not think I will make it back by Samhain.”
O’Brien cast him a scathing look then crossed himself. If anyone else had tried that, Ronan would’ve flogged him, but O’Brien was like a second father to him and had been with him since he was a lad.
“Where did the superstition come from, that having a female on a ship curses it?” he wondered aloud, though he’d heard it his whole life.
“All I know is that women distract the crew, which angers the sea goddess, causing her to send the waters into tumult.” O’Brien shuddered.
“Clearly, that is the case,” Ronan pointed out dryly.
“If only you’d make some effort to appease the goddess, Cap’n,” O’Brien chastised.
That appeasement being ever so convenient for the male crew. Tale had it that naked women calmed the sea, which is why so many figureheads were unclothed creatures. The figurehead of The Selkie was the mythical creature herself, half-seal, half-human.
But Ronan did agree something was in the air and he only prayed it was stronger winds to take them home faster.
Ronan spoke up. “Gather around.” His crew came to stand at the edge of the quarter-deck, and he looked down upon them with O’Brien and Kelly alongside, about to go to their berths to sleep. They were rough enough that they tended to stay below decks when other people were around, hence the night watch.
“As you’ve no doubt heard by now, we have an unexpected visitor on board. I want no one to go near her without my permission. I also want no one to speak of her or of being cursed by her. She will be treated with courtesy when you see her. She is under my protection and anyone who disobeys will answer to me. Is that understood?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Well, if they did not say it with any gusto, they could not be blamed. He dismissed everyone then rechecked their course. The winds were steady, they were moving along at five knots and thus far not a cloud in the sky. He locked the wheel with the helm line, then stood back and watched the sea.
What was he going to do with Grace Whitford when they arrived? He would be too occupied with Flynn and whatever damage he decided to inflict on Ronan’s family this time to worry about her.
The problem of Flynn needed a permanent solution. This feud could not continue any longer. Especially not with Maeve caught in the middle—like the knot in a tug-of-war. Theories of its origin ranged from thwarted young love to jealousy over King Henry III’s favour.
At one time, Ronan had truly believed there was hope for a friendly generation. Why should something centuries old, that no one really knew the cause of, affect them now?
As young boys, they had befriended each other at school before either realized who the other was or why it mattered. Once the amity was discovered, it was quickly snuffed out and the vitriol infused into this generation by Flynn’s father, Baron Corlach. It was as though new life had been breathed into the feud.
Flynn had begun to terrorize and attack Ronan, which admittedly taught him to fight. Ronan had been sent to England to school after that, which was only a temporary reprieve. However, he’d made powerful friends, and it might be he would have to call in a favour from them to save his sister.
Flynn’s attacks had escalated with each passing year, his hostility against the Donnellan clan seeming to fester like an untreated wound. At first, it had been petty things—spreading false rumours, tampering with crops, and stirring unrest among the tenants. Ronan had confronted Flynn on numerous occasions, but words had proved futile. All the while, Flynn’s twisted charm masked the malice that lay beneath.
When Flynn began encroaching on Donnellan land, it became a more direct affront. Fences were torn down, livestock went missing, and fields were set ablaze under the cover of night. Ronan had tried to rally the local magistrates, but Flynn’s cunning ensured there was never enough evidence to hold him accountable. And then there was the poisoning of Donnellan’s prized horses—an unforgivable act.
Then he’d begun trying to control the waters. Flynn had turned to piracy, seizing merchant vessels and demanding bribes for safe passage. Ronan had armed his crew and patrolled the bay himself, but Flynn’s network of informants always seemed one step ahead. The losses mounted, and the locals suffered, further entrenching the hatred between their families.
It had been one thing for Flynn to terrorize the bay and seas of Ireland like the pirate he was, but now to threaten Ronan’s sister?
That was beyond anything Ronan could tolerate. Flynn’s audacity had crossed a line. It was no longer about revenge; it was about survival…and protecting those Ronan held most dear.
He wished his mother had been more specific about the threat so Ronan could prepare his strategy. She’d only said, “Come quickly, Maeve is falling into his clutches.” What did that mean? Ronan was afraid he knew.
Flynn had made it his life’s mission to destroy the Donnellans, and it was Ronan’s to stop him.