Chapter 38
The Eliza Jane rolled beneath Morning Fawn’s feet.
Sailors bustled about. Overhead, one manned the crow’s nest on lookout.
Painted a dull gray, the sharp, narrow frame of the side-wheel steamer glided across the water like a ramrod-straight snake slithering in the shallows to avoid its enemies.
Burning smokeless coal, its short smokestacks blew clear, further enabling it to fade from sight.
Enemies. Maybe that is what Morning Fawn needed.
The captain and Nick had discussed the dangers of the scattered contingents of Yankee ships monitoring the waters between Galveston and the open sea.
The Eliza Jane had to run dark until they made it past the blockade lines. What if the Yankees found them?
Salt pricked her lips as she gazed westward, no land in sight. A burst of orange streaked from behind the fading clouds. The Gulf of Mexico’s waters had settled down to a ripple, a soft hum after the norther that had torn into Galveston two evenings ago.
She gripped the rail. In a few minutes, she’d go to the master cabin with Nick.
The captain would open a Bible and say a few words over them.
Nick would place his signet ring on her finger, as a temporary measure, and kiss her, his lips like a king’s seal, leaving no doubt of his ownership and authority.
He’d already demanded a token payment on that ownership this morning when he took her in his arms and bruised her lips with a kiss that contained all of the gentleness of a steam engine driving forward. Such fire, when she felt nothing.
After the ceremony, there’d be a dinner at the captain’s table. And then what? Would Nick insist upon his full husbandly rights or give her more time? A century wouldn’t be enough. But the way her stomach felt, she could claim seasickness.
Back in her Comanche village, she’d resigned herself to marrying Stands-His-Ground. Only after Devon kidnapped her and showed up at Sweet Briar a year and a half later had she dared hope to marry for love. A blessing she didn’t deserve and now would never have.
Her gaze fell to a cluster of boats swinging near the stern. The captain said he was traveling just out of sight of land for now. If she managed to steal a jolly boat, would she have any hope of reaching shore or a Yankee ship? Planning a successful escape would take time. Time she didn’t have.
She touched the emerald necklace beneath the collar of her blue wool dress.
The earrings were in her pocket. The tiara was in her sea chest. Aunt Judith had loaned her the jewelry for the ball.
A bribe to a cooperative sailor might buy her way into a rowboat quietly lowered over the side.
It might even buy her an oarsman, but a word to the wrong man would earn her Nick’s wrath and an end to all patience.
She’d given her word. She had to keep it, didn’t she?
She’d marry Nick Moyer and chain herself to him for life.
But did that mean she had to be at his side?
What if she found her way to shore? Became a cook, a seamstress, or even a washwoman?
The emeralds would fetch a good price if she could manage to only pay the sailor a portion. Money to live on.
The wind tore through her hair, blowing spray in her face. Where was Devon? Had he made it to Brownsville or Matagorda? Was he wounded? Would he see Frieda there? Her throat constricted. A cough wracked through her.
She lowered her head. Lord, what would you have me do? What about those women in the Bible? Had Bathsheba wanted to become David’s wife? Devon had been wise to not come for her. It would have been akin to a death sentence.
But why hadn’t he come?
Maybe he’d arrived too late. Maybe that’s why Nick had hurried them away from Galveston. She scrunched her eyes, clenched her hands, and bent her head to the rail.
Enemies. That’s what she needed. And time. What if she managed to leave a lantern on? Would one small light make a difference?
A firm hand touched her back. “How is my bride?”
She looked up into dark eyes and shivered. “Seasick.”
His cigar-laden breath drifted her way as he bent to whisper in her ear. “A man only has so much patience, and mine is running thin. You can rest after the ceremony.”
She glanced at the boats. Could an emerald necklace get her back to Comancheria?
Bells clanged in middle of the night. Morning Fawn shot up from her protective cocoon of covers on the bunk. Dressed in his ankle-length drawers, his chest bare, Nick rolled off the thin mattress on the deck and stood.
The ship’s boilers rumbled. The captain must be driving the boat full steam ahead. The constant smack of the paddles to the water even resonated in the cabin suite the first mate had given up for them. What had happened to being silent and slipping by the Yankees?
“Get dressed.” Nick grabbed his trousers.
“I never got undressed.” She scrambled off the bunk and smoothed her wrinkled skirt.
“Of course not.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’ve had enough of your delays. We’re getting married tomorrow, seasick or not, even if you have to do it from bed.”
Loud voices and shouting rang out from the main deck.
“There’s trouble.” Nick pulled his shirt down and shoved his arms in—
A faint flash across the skylight overhead. Boom. The roar jolted through Morning Fawn. Wham. The ship rocked. Nick’s shoulder banged into the bulkhead. Morning Fawn stumbled and caught herself on the bunk.
“We’ve been hit.” Nick threw open his trunk and lugged out his money belt and arm holster.
The Yankees had found them? God help us. And she hadn’t even had an opportunity to light a lamp. She grabbed her cloak. Where were her shoes?
“Get a move on. We need to get out of here.” He hooked the gold-laden pouches around his waist and secured his holster. “Do you have your necklace?”
“I don’t know.” She patted beneath her pillow. “I placed it here. But with all of the jarring…” How much damage could the ship endure? Dear Lord, please protect us. “We don’t have time—”
He ransacked her covers and swiped his hands across the bunk. “Where the devil did you put it?”
Boom. The ship shuddered.
“Us firing back, but we don’t have much firepower.” He huffed like a steam engine as he dropped to his hands and knees, searching the floor.
“Forget the necklace.” She grabbed at his arm.
“Found it.” He jumped to his feet, stuffed it in his pocket, and threw on his coat.
She shoved her shoes on.
Boom. Wham. A curdling yell overhead. Morning Fawn rocked against Nick. He slammed his hand against the bulkhead, bracing himself.
Her whole body atremble, she gained her feet. “I’m leaving.” Her voice was so garbled, it sounded like a two-year-old’s. She headed for the door.
“Where’s your tiara—”
Another flash across the skylight. A roar. Wham—the sound of a blacksmith hammer striking an anvil, except a hundred times louder. A groan shuddered through the deck.
She took off running. She had no intention of drowning for a few jewels. They had to get topside.
Nick followed.
She latched onto the ladder that led to the open hatch.
Farther down the dark passageway, someone called out. “We’re taking on water.”
A sailor shoved past her and hurried up the steps. “Stay here.”
Above the open hold, men rushed about. The captain yelled, “Make for the shore. Run her aground before they board us.”
“That man’s out of his mind if he thinks I’m staying down here.” Nick snagged her hand with the force of a hook. “Come on—you belong to me.”
He pulled her up the ladder. His revolver was out of his holster by the time they emerged from below. “We need protection if there’s not enough lifeboats.”
Chaos reigned. Men ran about. A monster loomed off the port side, a steamer with every lamp lit and guns out, barreling toward them.
Suddenly, the Eliza Jane swung starboard. Morning Fawn’s knees hit the deck. So did Nick’s. His revolver skidded across the deck’s oak boards, slamming into the pilothouse.
Nick dove for it.
A thunderous roar. The foremast crashed to the deck, crushing a man beneath and flinging the sailor from the crow’s nest into the water. The railing near the stern folded like sticks, its bulwark shattered.
Morning Fawn crawled for the railing midship.
“All hands!” A voice rang out. “Brace for impact.”
Morning Fawn grabbed ahold of the unfurled rope ladder flapping against the inside of the railing, burrowing her hands as deep as should could into the hemp cords. Dear Lord, help.