Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
A sea-man is a cock o’ the game, young maidens find it true,
We never are so much to blame to let them want their due.
— JOHN PLAYFORD, “THE JOVIAL MARRINER”
The sun lowered into the horizon like a god’s golden pendant dipping into the sea.
Sara leaned on the rail and stared at its rippled image in the water, wishing she could just walk the fiery path until she reached England and the safety of home.
Jordan had been right. This trip had been ill-fated from the beginning.
And that wretched captain made matters worse.
Oh, how he must have laughed after she’d left his cabin, after she’d succumbed to his kisses.
How he must have reveled in her weakness.
Instead of arguing on the women’s behalf, she’d let him take scandalous liberties.
He’d distracted her quite effectively, no doubt for his own nefarious purposes.
It couldn’t be because of any real attraction.
He’d made that clear, both in his cabin and later, when he’d publicly spurned her before his men, acting as if she were some …
piece of pirate booty to be doled out as he saw fit!
Her cheeks grew hot just remembering it.
He’d made her melt, then offered to hand her to the first man who asked. The scoundrel! How she hated him!
“Miss Willis.” She turned to find Louisa threading her way through the women seated everywhere on deck, eating their supper. With a plate of stewed beef and ship’s biscuits balanced in one hand and a cup of whisky-flavored water in the other, Louisa reached her.
“You really must eat,” Louisa said in the governess tone she was wont to use. She held out the plate. “You must keep up your strength.”
“For what?” Sara sighed, though she took the cup. “It does no good to fight them. They’ll do what they want, regardless of what we say.”
“That’s not true.” Setting the plate on a nearby box, Louisa picked up a biscuit and closed the fingers of Sara’s free hand around it. “You’ve already convinced them to give us a choice. That’s more than we had before.”
“Some choice.” In a burst of defiance, she crumbled the biscuit into the sea.
She had no appetite after her encounter with the dreadful captain.
When she spoke again, her tone was edged with pique.
“We can marry an old pirate or a young one, a daring or a dull one, but still we must marry pirates and live out our days on some remote island where we may never again see our families.” Her voice broke at the thought of being separated from Jordan for the rest of her life.
No matter what she’d told Gideon, Jordan would never find her.
He’d search in all the wrong places, never dreaming that the pirates were on an island.
A tear slipped from her eye, and she brushed it away.
She never cried. She was too practical for that.
But tonight she felt very impractical … and weepy.
With a murmur of understanding, Louisa squeezed her arm. “There, there, now. Don’t fret yourself over it. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
A new, gruffer voice sounded beside Louisa. “If the lady ain’t gonna eat her dinner, then she should give it to one o’ the others and not waste it by throwin’ it in the sea.”
Sara and Louisa turned to find the peg-legged cook scowling at them. In one hand he held a pitcher of water and in the other, the knobbed, worn stick he used as a cane. But the mottled brown and gray beard covering half his face gave him a fierce appearance that negated any hint of weakness.
Another pirate to plague them. Sara was sorely weary of them, and she was not in the mood to fight anymore.
Apparently, Louisa’s mood was quite different, for she wagged her finger at him. “How dare you give the poor woman trouble over those nasty biscuits! If you made biscuits worth eating, sir, perhaps she wouldn’t throw them to the fish!”
He blinked. “Biscuits worth eating?” His voice rose. “I’ll have you know, madam, that I bake the best biscuit on the high seas!”
“That’s not saying much, considering that ship’s biscuits are notoriously awful.”
“It’s all right, Louisa, you needn’t defend me—” Sara began.
Louisa ignored her. “Those biscuits were so hard, I could scarcely choke them down. As for that stew—”
“Look here, you disrespectful harpy,” the cook said, punctuating his words with loud taps of his cane, “there ain’t nothin’ wrong with Silas Drummond’s stew, and I defy any man—or woman—to make a better one!”
“As you wish. I suppose it would be better if I took over the cooking.” Louisa lifted the hem of the flimsy apron assigned to the women as part of their convict costume.
“Of course, I’ll need a better apron and a decent cap, but I’m sure we can drum one up somewhere.
Oh, and if you’d be so good as to show me where the stores are kept—”
“I will not!” Silas’s expression was an amusing mix of fury and astonishment.
To Sara’s surprise, Louisa paid no attention to his anger. “Then how can I prepare tomorrow’s dinner?”
“You ain’t preparin’ tomorrow’s dinner!” he roared. “My kitchen ain’t for the likes of an uppish female who probably don’t even know how to leech the salt out o’ beef!”
Sara rested her elbow on the rail, watching the interchange in silent amusement now that she was sure Louisa could take care of herself.
“How hard can it be to cook a decent meal?” Louisa muttered.
“I’ve seen some of the best cooks in the world prepare dinner.
” In an aside to Sara, she added, “I was employed by the Duke of Dorchester for a time, you know. He had two French chefs in his employ. I should think I learned a thing or two from them.”
“French chefs? English dukes?” Silas sputtered. “You ain’t gettin’ within a yardarm’s length of my kitchen, you … you—”
“My name is Louisa Yarrow, but you may call me Miss Yarrow,” Louisa said primly.
He looked so stunned by the condescending statement that Sara had to disguise her laugh with a fit of coughing.
“It don’t matter what I call you or what you call yerself,” he growled as he stepped near enough to Louisa to glower down at her.
A sudden trough made the ship lurch forward, but while Sara and Louisa had to grab for the rail to keep their balance, he somehow managed to stay perfectly upright as if his feet were welded to the deck.
“You ain’t gettin’ near my kitchen, woman.
I got enough to worry about, havin’ to feed all these females. I don’t need a troublemaker underfoot.”
“Perhaps Louisa could help you just a little,” Sara interjected. She had to admit that the stew didn’t look or smell palatable, and a quick glance around the deck showed that the women weren’t eating their meals with any great enthusiasm, despite their hunger.
“That’s a capital idea,” said a new voice. Sara turned to find the English first mate standing at her elbow, smoking a cheroot. “Why not let the women help with the meals? God knows we could use a decent one for a change.”
Silas scowled at the first mate. “You’re takin’ the side o’ that woman?
Well, I had enough o’ your complaints. And hers.
” He turned and stomped away. “See if either o’ you gets any more o’ what I cook.
I’ll let this harpy serve you a thinnish French broth and see how you like it.
You’ll be beggin’ for more of me cookin’ in a week. Damned English fools. I swear I …”
He continued to mutter under his breath as he picked his way between the women seated on deck. But when Louisa started to go after him, Barnaby stayed her with one hand.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s an old curmudgeon who hates women.
I’ve heard tell it’s because he can’t satisfy one in bed, if you know what I mean.
Some sort of old war injury.” Barnaby cast Louisa an ingratiating smile that showed fine, white teeth.
“If it’s a husband you’re looking for, you’d be better off with me.
All my parts are in fine working order.”
A chilly smile touched Louisa’s lips as she snatched her arm away.
“Are they indeed? Then I suggest you find a wife who’d be happy to oil and pamper them to keep them in good working order.
I’d be more likely to smash them to bits.
” With that, she lifted her skirts and hurried after Silas, leaving Barnaby to gape after her as he instinctively jerked his legs together.
“She’s a cold fish, isn’t she?” he commented to Sara.
“Not exactly. She just doesn’t like men much.”
“Ah,” Barnaby said as if he understood.
But his frown showed he didn’t. How could he? He’d never had his life utterly destroyed by the opposite sex. No man who hadn’t also been tormented simply because of his sex could understand Louisa’s hatred.
“And what about you?” he asked. “Do you hate men?”
Unfortunately, no, she thought, remembering the mortifying way she’d responded to Gideon’s kiss. “Only those men who try to take away my freedom.”
The sun had finally set, and the gray dusk heightened the dark intensity of Barnaby’s black eyes as he scrutinized her. “You mean men like our captain?”
The trace of irony in his tone made her color.
Everyone had just assumed she would swoon at their illustrious captain’s feet.
And if they knew she’d practically done so—they’d laugh.
Dropping her gaze, she skimmed her fingers over the smooth brass rail before her.
“Yes, him. Certainly. He had no right to take us against our will.”
Barnaby leaned back as he drew languidly on his cheroot. “Look around you, Miss Willis. Does it appear to you as if your convict women object to being freed from that ship?”