Chapter 11
11
A fter battling the storm for hours, exhausted with every muscle in his body aching, Gibb finally saw a break in the clouds to the south. “Prepare to shift all booms fine on the starboard bow!” he bellowed, confident the Prosperity would withstand anything else the tempest might throw at them.
“Aye, Cap’n!” Gowan shouted before spreading the word through the ranks.
“The undertow is already easing,” said Archie, only able to stand on his feet because he had a hold of the wheel, but the man was spent, as was the entire crew. During the grueling night, Gibb had spelled the quartermaster several times—in the worst of it, he had no option but to hold her steady alongside the man for a good three hours, mayhap more.
“You’re not wrong.” Gibb pointed to the clearer skies just over the bow. “The worst is past us.”
Archie cast his gaze to the heavens. “God willing.”
“Aye, and you’d best pray the good Lord is willing, else there willna be anyone left with the strength to fight.”
Down below, Miss Harcourt stumbled out of the cabin hold and steadied herself by grasping a belaying pin.
“What the devil is she doing?” asked the quartermaster.
“I aim to find out.” Gibb marched down the steps, grinding his molars. Even if there were blue skies ahead, the storm was still too savage for her to be on deck. What was it about women and their inability to follow orders? “Miss Harcourt, did I not instruct you to stay in your cabin?”
She had moved to a water barrel, levered off the lid, and dunked a cloth. “Forgive me, but I?—”
Holy hellfire, the woman had tracked a swath of blood across the deck. “Good God, what happened?” Rivulets of blood streamed from her hands, and her dress was slick and wet. It took but two strides before he pulled her into his arms. “What did you do?”
“My trunk toppled.” She curled into him while a sob racked her body. “Th-there was glass everywhere.”
He didn’t wait for her to say more. “Mr. MacLean, you have the helm. Sail us to clear skies!”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”
A hundred questions rifled through Gibb’s mind as he glanced through the open door of her cabin. God on the cross, it looked like a battlefield. “Where is Miss Hatch?”
Miss Harcourt shook her head. “I’ve no idea. She wasn’t in her cabin all night.”
“Dammit all, the lady’s maid is paid to see to your care. It isna as if she was required to be anywhere else.”
Still curled over with her fists pressed against her forehead, Isabella whimpered. “She must have gone below.”
A tic twitched above Gibb’s eye. He’d told both women not to go below. He’d have words with the lady’s maid, but not before he saw to Miss Harcourt’s wounds. He kicked the door to his cabin open, marched across the littered floor, and rested her atop his bed. Hell, his chamber was nearly as destroyed as the lady’s, riddled with broken plates and books scattered everywhere.
“No,” she said, trying to stand. “I’ll bleed all over your bedclothes.”
“To hell with my linens,” he growled. “What did you do in there? Surely you dinna try to light your lantern.”
“No, it was dark—almost completely so. I tried to pick up the glass and put everything back in its place, but I’m afraid I made a frightful mess of myself.”
He levered open the half-barrel of water he kept for his own use and dunked a cloth, then returned and kneeled beside her. “What hurts the most? Do you ken if there are any shards of glass still lodged in your skin?”
“I don’t know. Everything hurts. My slippers fell off whilst I was trying to bend my knees with the waves, and I cut my feet.” She held up her palms. “My hands are a mess. Especially my fingers.”
“How about your head? Did you have a fall?”
“No.”
Thank God.
Allowing himself to breathe, Gibb grasped her right hand and began cleaning away the blood from her fingers, carefully searching for glass fragments. “By the blood smeared across your face, I was afraid you’d suffered a head injury.”
“No, my head is perfectly fine, though it should be examined by a physician for allowing me to bend to my father’s whims and set out on this godforsaken voyage.” She kicked up a leg. “I’m afraid it will be a few days before my feet are healed enough for a stroll about the deck.”
He pulled a sliver of glass from her thumb and pressed the cloth firmly over it. “If you canna walk, then I shall carry you.”
“Pshaw!” She kicked the other foot. “You are far too busy to worry about the likes of me.”
“I can make time.” Finishing with the right, he picked up her left hand. “I reckon you’ll have quite a task putting your tablets back together.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Do not remind me. I am sick— physically sick to see all my work tossed about by that horrible storm.”
“Then I shall help you repair them.”
Miss Harcourt emitted a wee gasp, and for a moment, Gibb thought he might have hurt her. “You would do that for me?” she asked, her voice soft and utterly vulnerable.
If only she knew how much he wanted to do for her. If she weren’t betrothed and he weren’t a ship’s captain, he’d be happy to spend his days by her side translating her tablets, helping her discover more about the man who wrote them.
But rather than acknowledge how those black eyes brightened, Gibb moved to her feet and cleansed them. “A few of your cuts are deep. They’ll need to be bandaged, else you’ll bleed all over my ship,” he said, giving her a wink.
She graced him with a lovely smile, wild black hair shading one eye, her face still smeared with blood. But it didn’t matter. She was the bonniest woman he’d ever seen in all his days, and though her feet and hands were cut, she had just made his heart soar with her wee grin. “Heaven forbid I spill a drop of blood on your pristine timbers, my lord.”
His hand stilled for a moment. It didn’t bother him that she’d referred to him as lord, not really. He’d been “my lord” most of his life. However, aboard the Prosperity he did not want to be seen as a lordling—not by anyone. “Captain, never my lord when we’re asea.”
“Forgive me. I misspoke.”
“I’ll not hang you from the gibbet today. Tomorrow, mayhap, but not today.”
“You’re awful.”
“And you’re tenacious.”
“I am, rather, am I not?” She flexed her toes. “’Tis my curse.”
“I wouldna venture that far. Your persistence is an admirable quality. If I had a dozen men as dogged as you, my timbers would be even more pristine.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Be still, my thundering heart.”
Gibb laughed with her, admiring those eyes. God save him, the woman who had haunted his mind for the past weeks was lying prostrate atop his bed, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
“Beg your pardon, Cap’n?” Archie said from where he stood in the doorway, his shoulders bent, his face drawn. “The storm is behind us. We’ve a damaged yardarm. We also have damned uncountable yards of tangled rigging. Besides that, nearly every sail is in need of repair.”
“And the cargo?” Gibb asked.
“Mac reported two barrels of whisky lost.”
“Is that all?”
Archie scratched his head, making his hair stand on end. “Thus far.”
“Verra well. Send Duncan to me, then find your rack. We’ll make our repairs and pray we dunna drift too far off course.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Archie turned his shoulder, stopped, and glanced backward. “Beg your pardon, Miss Harcourt. Are you well?”
“Just a few cuts and bruises, is all,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. MacLean. Captain MacGalloway told me we wouldn’t have come through the storm without you.”
After the door closed, Gibb regarded Isabella—her namesake after all, even though he had purposefully made himself think of her as Miss Harcourt, engaged to an American miner. “I dinna tell you that.”
She brushed her fingers over the stubble on his cheek, and no matter how hard he tried not to moan, a rumble of longing swelled from his throat. “You didn’t need to. Over these past weeks, I’ve watched how you put your trust in Mr. MacLean. You listen to him far more than you do any of the others.”
“Aye, he’s a brilliant navigator—taught me most of what I know about the sea.”
“You were in the navy together?”
“I entered with an officer’s commission, but he was forced to fight his way through the ranks. And not a day passes when I dunna thank God the man took me under his wing.”
Her fingers brushed his stubble along the other side of his jaw. “He was kind to you.”
“Not at first, but after we fought together in a few battles, he decided I wasna one of those fops who idles away his days in London gentlemen’s clubs smoking pipes and sipping brandy.”
“Did you impress him with your skill at archery?”
“Hardly. The King’s Navy issues muskets and cutlasses in this century—cannons as well.”
Duncan arrived, his hair mussed, bags under his eyes. “You asked to see me, Cap’n?”
Gibb pushed to his feet. “Och, lad, you look as if ye’ve been in the wars. Did you not stay below decks as I ordered?”
“I tried, sir. But I fell out o’ me hammock and thumped me head.” The lad rubbed his temple. “Got a knot the size of a walnut to prove it.”
“Well, you’d best not overtax yourself today. Stay here with Miss Harcourt and tidy up this mess whilst I inspect the ship’s damages—and find out where the devil Miss Hatch is hiding.”
Duncan threw a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s back in her cabin now, but Gowan thought she’d be safer if she stayed in the wee storage room behind the galley.”
Gibb blinked at the lad. Good God, had his boatswain fallen in love with the lady’s maid?
“I’ll speak to her,” said Miss Harcourt. “You have far too much with which to concern yourself. Moreover, Maribel is my responsibility.”
After the captain wrapped Isabella’s feet in bandages and told her to stay put, she watched Duncan methodically pick up the books that had scattered across the floor during the tempest. Interestingly, the lad put them all back where they belonged, first by topic and secondly in alphabetical order.
“You can read,” she said.
The boy glanced her way, running his hand over the cover of a book. “Aye, miss.”
“How did you learn?”
One of Duncan’s bony shoulders twitched up while he slid a volume into place. “The cap’n makes me take two hours of lessons after the morning chores are done every day except Sundays. He reckons I only have to do my chores on the Lord’s day.”
Isabella found it touching that the swaggering captain would ensure the boy was educated. “My, you ought to be obliged to him for giving you an education. Men who know their letters as well as mathematics and languages can always find a position in Britain.”
“Aye, that’s what Cap’n says, though my da dinna ken much about reading and writing. He was in the navy—an enlisted man, ye ken.”
“Was he?” Isabella sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “Pray tell, what happened to your parents?”
“Both dead.”
Though she knew Duncan was an orphan, she thought he might have answered with a bit more information. “Oh my, you poor boy, how awful for you.” When Duncan did not respond, she opted to pursue a different tack. “Goodness, your story must be astonishing. Tell me, how did you end up on the Prosperity? ”
The lad opened a cupboard and pulled out a broom and dustpan. “Once Cap’n MacGalloway resigned his navy commission, he came to fetch me at the boarding school.”
Isabella shook her head. It appeared there were several missing facts. How did an orphaned boy end up being “fetched” by His Lordship? “Wait a moment, I don’t quite understand. How, exactly, did you come to know the captain?”
“Och, he kent me da. My father was a petty officer aboard the HMS Cerberus , and the cap’n was a commander. They fought side by side fending off the French bastards in the Battle of Lissa. The cap’n said me da fought like a Spartan right up until the verra end.”
As she drew in a deep breath, she blinked away her tears. “Though I’m sure losing your father must have been dreadful, it is good to know he died valiantly.”
Duncan swept the shards of pottery into a pile. “The cap’n said he’d never met a man braver than Farley Lamont.”
“Then your father must have been a hero indeed. Was he away at sea when you lost your mother?”
“Aye, she died of consumption a month afore me da. That was awful, it was.” The lad pushed the pile into the dustpan. “I dinna ken what to do, and then the magistrate took me to the orphanage. I reckoned I was done for, until Cap’n MacGalloway had words with the orphanage’s mistress.”
“He did?” Isabella put a bit of weight on her feet, testing the cuts.
“Ye sound surprised,” said Duncan, dumping the dustpan into the rubbish bin.
“I am a bit. After all, it is not common for an officer to visit the orphanage of the son of a fallen man, is it?”
“I dunna think it is all that odd. Me da asked Cap’n MacGalloway to look after me—those were his last words.”
Isabella stood without much pain, though donning a pair of shoes might be another matter. “Then after he visited you in the orphanage, did he bring you aboard the Prosperity ?”
“Och, nay. At first he took me to a boarding school that wasna a great deal better than the orphanage—aside from all the books and the learning of me letters.”
She chuckled. “I was schooled by tutors, but from what I understand, boarding schools can be a tad severe—however, a good education tends to work out for the best in the long run. I say, you are still of schoolboy age. Did you complain to the captain about being mistreated? Why are you aboard ship and not there?”
Duncan returned the broom to the cupboard. “When the cap’n came to visit, he asked me if I wanted to be a cabin boy aboard his new ship. And I couldna say yes fast enough. Then he told me I could join the crew as long as I kept up with my studies—two hours per day, mind ye.”
Reaching for the back of a chair, Isabella took a couple of steps while she reflected back on several times when she’d been on deck midmorning. At that time of day, the captain was usually near the helm. And never once had she noticed the lad taking lessons in his cabin. “ He teaches you?”
“Nay. He has me read to him and whatnot. But Thane—the oldest sailor aboard—sees to my lessons on account of he used to be a schoolteacher in the Highlands. After the clearances, all the children were gone, and the only way Thane could make a living was to join the navy.”
“Let me guess, he was aboard the HMS Cerberus with His Lordship as well?”
“Cap’n, mind you.”
“I know, but he wasn’t a captain then, was he?”
Duncan opened the door and held it for her as she gingerly tiptoed through. “I reckon he wasna.”
It shouldn’t have surprised Isabella to find Mr. Erskine in the corridor speaking to Maribel, but, nonetheless, it did. She waited until Duncan took his leave before addressing the pair. Then she squared her shoulders, doing her very best to appear commanding as she strode toward them. “I am glad you are both here, because I believe each of you needs to hear what I have to say.”
Hat in hand, Gowan bowed. “Beg your pardon, miss, but the cap’n already had words with me—stern words, mind you, words not meant for a lady’s ears.”
“Did he now?” Isabella wasn’t about to allow the boatswain to take the wind out of her sails. “Well, I might add that I was quite?—”
“I’m ever so sorry, miss,” Maribel said. “I didn’t intend to remain below, but when the storm started?—”
“It was my fault,” Gowan cut in. “For a moment it looked like the tempest was easing a wee bit, so I asked Maribel to go below with me for a bite to eat.”
The maid nodded emphatically. “But then the storm grew far worse and?—”
“I told Maribel she’d be far safer if she remained there rather than try to make her way back to her cabin.”
Isabella sighed, the wind in her sails waning. “Which is Mr. Lyle’s cabin, and I am occupying your cabin, am I not, Mr. Erskine?”
The boatswain took Maribel’s hands. “Och, nay. The cabins are yours whilst ye’re aboard the Prosperity .”
The lady’s maid blushed a lovely shade of rose. “Thank you, sir.”
Though the display of affection was endearing, Isabella needed to take charge of things before the lad bent his knee and proposed marriage. Not that Isabella minded, but the corridor of the ship was not the place for such an overture. She cleared her throat. “Let us agree that it was best for Mirabel to stay below decks last night. However, there are two things that I want to point out. First of all, given the storm, it would have been proper for you to inform me that you were going to dine with Mr. Erskine before you followed him below. Secondly, when we came aboard this ship, we were told most emphatically that we were not at any time to venture below decks. Maribel, you broke the only rule Captain MacGalloway gave us, and that is unacceptable.”
Growing even redder, Maribel gripped her hands over her midriff and cast her gaze downward. “I am so very sorry.”
“But that was my fault as well,” Mr. Erskine explained. “I told her it was all right to go below decks as long as she stayed near the galley and away from the sleeping quarters.”
Isabella looked the man in the eye. “That may very well be, but as an officer aboard this ship, I would think you would give more consideration to your captain’s orders. After all, the men look to you for guidance. If you willfully disregard Captain MacGalloway’s orders, what are the crewmen to think?”
Now both of their faces had turned scarlet. Mr. Erskine offered a bow. “Forgive me, miss. You have me word it willna happen again.”
“Thank you.” Isabella gave him a quick curtsey before turning to Maribel. “We have a great deal of cleaning up to do.”