She laughed at the prospect. "You and I wed, indeed!"
"Well, it's not that funny! I could have provided for you as well as he can. Well, not as well, but certainly comfortably."
Jillian only laughed harder. "Oh, I'm sorry, Will." She dabbed at a tear in the corner of her eye. He was right. It wasn't that funny. It was just nerves that were making her behave so foolishly. "I didn't mean it as an insult, only—"
"Only you love him. You love the Colonial Devil, the lucky bastard."
She looked at him through the gloom. It had never occurred to her before that Will might find her attractive. She was flattered. "I do, Will, I do love him," she said gently. "More than I realized, until he was gone."
He picked at the sleeve of his doublet. "And I as well." Then he looked up quickly. "I didn't mean it that way."
"I knew exactly what you meant," she answered evenly. "I'll not judge you, Will Galloway. It's not my right, and it's not Duncan's either. You've been a good friend to him and to me. He shouldn't have treated you as he has."
"I forgive the devil." He drew up his knees to lean on them. "It's not his fault. It's all this crap with his past. The Mohawk. His mother."
Jillian's arm was beginning to ache with pinpricks from the weight of her sister's limp body. She shifted Beatrice carefully. Her sister slept on. "He told me what she did."
"Damn shame, isn't it? What's really a shame is that Duncan can't get over it. He can't accept the fact that Constance was a piss-poor mother. Somehow in that twisted mind of his, he blames everything on himself. His capture, his Indian wife's death, the baby's death, even his brother's."
"What brother? I thought he only had the one sister who died in the attack."
"He had an Iroquois brother."
"Oh," Jillian said softly, looking away. The ship was beginning to rock more violently. The carpetbags slid across the floor of the crate. "There's so much I don't know about Duncan. So much I don't understand."
"You can't expect to understand what he doesn't. All you can do is love him, Jillian."
She nodded. "That's all either of us can do, isn't it?"
Jillian's words were barely out of her mouth when Beatrice sat up and was violently ill again. Comforting her sister as best she could, Jillian looked at Will, but said nothing.
Hours passed. The sea grew rougher; the ship pitched harder, and Beatrice seemed to grow sicker. Either water was beginning to splash onto the deck or it was raining, because the blanket Jillian and Beatrice covered themselves with was growing wet. Even in her cloak and heavy woolen skirts, Jillian was cold.
It had to have been sometime in midafternoon when Will finally crawled from his corner toward the two women.
He touched Beatrice's forehead. "We need to get some water in her."
"I've tried. She can't keep it down."
He crouched, steadying himself with a hand pressed against the wall behind Jillian's head. "Men die of dehydration."
"Die of seasickness?" Jillian laughed without mirth. "Surely you're not serious?"
Will pulled his timepiece from inside the waistband of his breeches. "It's not yet three."
Jillian looked at her sister. She was pasty white, her skin cool and clammy, and she was shivering uncontrollably. Jillian knew what Will was thinking. If they made their presence known now, the ship might turn back.
Jillian looked at her sister, then back at Will. "We've got to get her out of here."
"Agreed." He crawled back to his corner and pulled a claw hammer from his single bag. He immediately began to work on the edge of the crate.
Beatrice barely stirred at the sound of the banging.
True to his word, Will had the wall of the crate loose in minutes. He gave the crate one hard kick, and the wall fell.
The first thing Jillian saw was a crewman in a black wool coat, staring at them with a mixture of surprise and fear.
Will jumped out of the box and reached in for Beatrice. "I need some help, here, man," he said, taking over completely. "Can't you see I've a sick woman, here?"
"Stowaways," the sailor murmured, adjusting his wool stocking cap so he could get a better look at the two women. "I—I'll have to tell me captain."
"All in good time. Now help me get her out of here."
The sailor hedged, but when Will caught his sleeve, he jumped into action.
As Will took Beatrice from her arms, Jillian stared out onto the open deck. She could tell that they were on the stern because the boat deck loomed before them. It was just beginning to rain. She could barely see the difference between the gray sky overhead and the gray sea that stretched out on every side of them.
The ship rocked violently as Jillian crawled from her hiding place, dragging Beatrice and her bags behind her. She could hear the waves splashing against the hull and onto the deck. Suddenly the Kelsey Marie didn't seem as large as she had at the dock.
Quite a crowd was beginning to gather. Sailors circled the packing crate, staring in awe. One brave soul with two tarred pigtails reached in to help Jillian with her carpetbags.
Will slung Beatrice over his shoulder, trying to steady himself on the rolling deck. She lay slumped and motionless like a worn rag doll. Waves crashed against the ships hull, nearly drowning out Will's voice. "The lady's in need of a bunk, boy. Show me the way."
Jillian hurried behind them, shivering beneath her cloak. Overhead, the canvas sail cracked and snapped ominously in the bitter wind. Not halfway across the deck, a man of obvious authority appeared. The response of the sailors indicated he was the captain.
"Where did you come from, might I ask?"
Will halted before the captain. "My apologies, sir. We were in a bit of a hurry to reach the Colonies. We've coin to pay our passage, I assure you."
The captain was a tall, thin man with a head of curly blond hair and a close-cropped blond beard and mustache. He was dressed all in black wool with a military cap on his head. "This is highly irregular," he shouted into the wind. "Stowaways can be criminally prosecuted. I could feed you to the sharks if I wished."
"We can pay well," Will insisted. Then he named a price.
Jillian blanched. She had had no idea the cost of such an expedition. She had no money to give Will. She had no money but Duncan's and a small dowry she had sewn into the hem of her petticoat.
The captain immediately appeared less hostile. "Well, it just so happens that we have a lady traveling with us. There're only two racks, so the three will have to share."
Jillian stepped forward, lowering her head against the blinding rain. "Sir, I must ask you. Have you a passenger by the name of—"
"Jillian?" A voice that could belong to no other cut through the wind.
Jillian looked up to see Duncan stomping toward them.
"Galloway, what the hell is going on here?"
Duncan had shed his veil, leaving his tattoo plain for all who cared to stare. He had discarded his gentleman's clothing and now wore plain broadcloth breeches, an unbleached muslin shirt without the stock, and a black wool cloak. It appeared that when he left the dock at London, he left behind whatever shred of Englishman he had been. Gone was his periwig; his dark hair rippled down his back. Jillian had not realized how long it had grown since she'd first met him.
She brushed past the captain, Will, and her sister. "Duncan, you can't blame him. This was my idea."
He took her arm none-too-gently. "You shouldn't have come," he hissed. Then, "Captain, we'll have to turn the ship around. My lady-wife will not be accompanying us."
"Turn her around?" The captain squinted in the driving rain. "Are you as mad as they say? Do you see which way the wind blows, Roderick? 'Twould be suicide to turn back now." He shook his head emphatically. "Lady or none, we head for open sea and hope we can outrun the storm."
Jillian had to suppress the urge to smile smugly. She had won! She had found Duncan, and the ship would not turn back.
"I'll pay you," Duncan shouted, not to be bested. "Whatever you ask.
Christ, I'll buy the ship, Adam."
The captain shook his head, already turning around, and headed for cover below deck. "The Kelsey Marie is not for sale. Not for any price. And she'll not be turning back." He threw his hand up. "Do what you will with your wife, Roderick. Throw her overboard if it suits you."
The captain signaled to Will. "Bring that one this way. There's no cabin for you, sir. You'll have to sleep with the crew, but the price will not change," he warned.
Will followed the captain, leaving Jillian to stand on the rolling deck, her carpetbag in her hand. From the look on Duncan's face, she feared he might do just what the captain had suggested. He might well throw her overboard.
"What the hell are you looking at?" he bellowed at the sailors who had gathered around. "Have you no tasks to keep this tub afloat?"
The men immediately skulked away, much like the rats Jillian had seen on the dock.
Jillian stared at Duncan. She no longer felt the chill of the wailing wind or the dismal rain. She refused to be the one to break eye contact. She refused to admit she'd made a mistake.
Duncan opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. He snatched the carpetbag from her hand and took her arm, leading her across the slippery, wet deck.
Jillian followed Duncan down a narrow ladder below the deck, then down a passageway barely wide enough to accommodate her husband's broad shoulders.
"You shouldn't have come, Jillian," he repeated like a chant under his breath. "You shouldn't have done it."
Jillian said nothing until he pushed open a door and stepped over a small ledge into a cabin. She followed behind him. The room was tiny, eight by eight feet, perhaps, and spartan. On one side was a narrow bed that hung by ropes from the wall. On the opposite side was a desk and stool. Duncan's maps and charts littered the desk and floor around it. The room smelled of polished wood and wet wool.
He slammed the door behind her so loudly that she jumped.
"Well?" he demanded.
She spun around. "Well, what? You left me and I wasn't ready to be left. I wasn't ready to give up on you, Duncan. You're my husband. The vows were until death do us part, not the bloody ocean!"
"This was Galloway's filthy scheme, wasn't it?"
She frowned. "You don't honestly believe that, do you?" She scrutinized his face, reading a mixture of anger and incredulity. "I said I wouldn't be left behind."
"Yes, but women say things," he scoffed. "I never thought—"
"You never thought I'd follow through with my word?" She removed her damp cloak. "Well, you've a lot to learn about me, haven't you husband?"
For a moment, Duncan actually seemed speechless. He picked up her carpetbag and tossed it onto the bed. "I cannot believe you did this. If someone had told me this would happen, I'd have laid every coin I owned against it and thought it an excellent wager."
"I suppose you'd have been a poor beggar then, wouldn't you?" She didn't mean to be smug. But it annoyed her that after the months they had been together, he still didn't realize the strength of her convictions. He didn't understand that she truly loved him.
When he turned to face her, he let his hands fall at his sides. "So now what do I do with you?" he asked, much of the power and anger gone from his voice.
She studied him from where she stood, three feet from him. She lifted her arms lamely. "Accept the fact that I'm here and make the best of it? Accept the fact that I'm not going to be as easy to discard as you'd anticipated?"
To her surprise, he laughed. Then he put his arms out to her and pulled her close. She melted into his embrace, savoring his warmth.
"Oh, Jilly . . ." He smoothed her tangled, damp hair. "You shouldn't have come. You should have just let me go. It was for your own good."
"But I love you," she cried passionately. "I want to be with you."
He sighed. "But don't you see, I can't love you like you want me to? And it's not you, sweetheart." He kissed the top of her head, almost pleading with her. "Understand that it's me. I just don't have it in me."
She clung to him, holding him tightly. "It's not true," she whispered, fighting tears. Her heart ached for the pain she knew he felt. "Give yourself time," she whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek, where the tattoo would forever be emblazoned. "Give us a chance, that's all I'm asking."
Eighteen
The Kelsey Marie caught the north winds off Portugal and headed for the American Colonies by the southern course. As the captain had stated, there was no turning back. Like it or not, Duncan was bound for home with his red-haired English wife at his side.
Despite Duncan's anger that Jillian had followed him, they fell easily into a shipboard routine. With Beatrice almost constantly ill and wanting no company, Jillian spent most of her time with Duncan, alone, in the tiny cabin they shared. The only time he allowed her to set foot above deck was when he accompanied her, which, due to the weather, was rare.
The truth was, after Duncan had gotten over his initial fury, he found himself almost pleased to have Jillian along. She sure as hell made a better cabin-companion than Atar. To his surprise, she was fairing well in the confinement of the cabin. She never complained of boredom or claustrophobia. She occupied herself with the chest full of books Duncan had brought with him. Oddly, he found himself comforted by Jillian's presence. With her beside him, he no longer had to fight the nagging suspicion that Algernon might make another sorry attempt to regain the Roderick fortune. Algernon and his whining voice was nothing but a bad taste in Duncan's memory now, along with many others.
Sometimes, to break up the boredom of the hours aboard ship, Duncan escorted Jillian to the captain's cabin for the evening meal. But he preferred not to share his wife's laughter with the captain, his first officer, Mrs. Amstead (the other female passenger), and Beatrice, if she could manage to get out of bed.
By remaining alone with his wife, Duncan could also avoid Will, whom he still refused to converse with other than when absolutely necessary. As far as he was concerned, Will had betrayed him. Perhaps he had not been in on Algernon's little stunt in New Forest, but Galloway had betrayed him by association just the same. Duncan refused to discuss that matter with either him or Jillian. He didn't think he needed to justify his sentiments. When the ship docked in Maryland, Galloway would go one way and Duncan another. The friendship was over.
So, most days, Duncan and Jillian remained in their own cabin, trying to keep warm around the small brass box the cabin boy filled with hot coals. Here the turmoil of the past months in England and the future that lay ahead in Maryland seemed far removed. Here, alone in the cabin with Jillian, Duncan felt he could lower his guard. It was a well-needed rest.
Duncan watched absently as Jillian, seated at the table, gave a tug on her second layer of wool stockings and reached for another slice of bread. In the crew's berthing area he had found a table only as wide as a man's shoulders, and installed it in the center of their cabin. There he and Jillian took their meals and played cards. The only trouble with the table was that, because it was not fastened down as the desk and bed were, it slid back and forth with the rolling rhythm of the ship. When the seas grew rough, Duncan had to tie it to the desk with a length of rope.
Jillian bit off a piece of bread and, licking the honey from her fingertips, turned the page of her book. Duncan imagined the taste of her mouth and his thoughts strayed. The best way he and Jillian had found to pass the hours was making love on the narrow bunk they shared. To his never-ending surprise, Jillian's appetite for bed sport matched his own.
Duncan pushed aside the Chesapeake Bay map he was copying. How could he concentrate on correct measurements with Jillian sitting there, honey sweetening her sensuous lips? "Are you eating, again, wife?" he teased.
It was a running joke between the two of them. While her sister Beatrice spent most of her time lying in her rack with Mrs. Amstead nursing her, Jillian continued to be in perfect health. Even when the sea grew so rough that Duncan felt queasy, Jillian's stomach remained una
ffected. She claimed it was the freshly baked bread and sweet honey she consumed along with cups of strong tea sugared with the same honey that kept her well. He was beginning to think the woman just couldn't be defeated. Not by distance, not by the sea, nor by his own foul moods.
" I 'm hungry," she retorted. "The baby's hungry."
"The baby?" He rose from his chair and walked behind her to rub her shoulders. "Your waist is no thicker than it was the day I married you. I've a mind to have you treated by the ship's surgeon for worms."
She laughed, tucking a strip of bread crust into her mouth. "Now, you complain I'm thin. In a few months, you'll be complaining that I'm too fat." She set down her book and leaned back against him with a sigh. "Mmmm. You're just never happy, are you?"
"Well, I wouldn't be so quick to say that. I'm always relatively content when you . . . " He whispered into her ear, and her hair tickled his mouth.
Jillian chuckled sensually. "Oh, is that what you've a mind for, now? And I was going to ask if you wanted me to beat you at a hand of cards."
"I didn't say that was what I had in mind, but since you offered." He slipped his hand beneath the wool cloak she was forced to wear almost constantly into the low-cut neckline of her woolen gown. It was true, her abdomen had not yet expanded, but he couldn't help but notice the recent swell in her breasts. She had the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen, and they fit perfectly in his cupped hand.
Jillian leaned her head against his chest, baring the creamy skin of her neck. Duncan kissed the pulse of her throat. How it was that this woman could smell like spring flowers in the dead of winter on a ship crossing the ocean, Duncan couldn't fathom. When he closed his eyes, her scent reminded him of the patches of flowers that grew around his house in Maryland. She reminded him of the home he longed for.
Jillian turned her head and kissed his cheek. Like the other men aboard ship, he had given up his razor upon setting sail. His beard, which grew in red, was beginning to thicken and now covered his bear claw tattoo. Jillian said she liked it. She said it tickled when he kissed her in certain places.
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