The Count’s Castaway

by Wynne, Aubrey

  “Wilken. Miss Katherine Wilken,” she said, embarrassed as he kissed her extended hand. His lips were warm against her skin and sent a jolt ran through her body.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Wilken. I am Captain Alexandre Lecroix, at your service.” His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes and transforming the hard lines of his face. “I look forward to making your acquaintance.”

  The weight lifted from her shoulders. Her heart told her to trust this man. “And Rory?”

  “Your passage will be deducted from his wages at the end of the voyage. His performance between now and then will decide if he remains a member of the crew.”

  Rory stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Thank ye, Captain. I appreciate yer understanding.” He nodded at Katie. “For both of us.”

  “I suggest you return to your duties now. I’ll require you to bring my meals here.” He turned to the quartermaster. “Tell Patch only what is necessary and that my meal portion will be doubled. Keep the tray covered when bringing it to and from the galley.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  When they were alone, Katie searched the room for the best place to sit. There was one other chair, next to the one he had taken. The only other place was the floor or the bed. The thought made her face hot, and she squashed the urge to fan her skin with her hand.

  “I won’t bite.” His voice was low and soft, almost a caress. Her stomach quivered. “Are you hungry?”

  She bit her lip, still debating about the chair. Finally, she sat and smoothed the over-sized shirt covering half her lap. “Thank you. If there is such a thing, you’ve earned a step into heaven for your kindness and understanding today.”

  He guffawed. “The Almighty might not be as appreciative of my actions as you. So, tell me about yourself, Katie Wilken.”

  Chapter Five

  Similar Circumstance, Opposite Outlooks

  Alexandre poured two glasses of wine. “Did you enjoy the beef?”

  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled the dish,” she said around a mouthful of bread dipped in gravy. “It’s delicious.”

  “Patch isn’t much to look at it, but he can make salted meat into a dish fit for a king.” He leaned back and watched as she wiped her mouth with a cloth.

  She’d given up on the cap and let her hair free. The red waves gleamed with streaks of gold. Her skin, pink from scrubbing before the meal, and a fresh nightshirt had made a remarkable transformation, physically and mentally. Her mannerisms were an odd combination of gently bred and starving peasant. He’d learned her father had been a first-rate chancer, marrying a woman for her money, not anticipating the family would cut them both off. But the father-in-law had set his daughter up with a modest annual income, which had kept her family comfortable until Katie’s mother died. Apparently, Mrs. Wilken had held the purse strings with a tight fist.

  Katie sipped the red wine, coughed slightly, then took another sip. “This is wonderful. What is it?”

  “French wine. If you aren’t used to it, drink it sparingly.” He winked at her. “It’s been known to loosen tongues and ruin reputations of the finest ladies.”

  “Then I have nothing to worry about!” she shot back.

  Alexandre smiled. Miss Katherine Wilken was beautiful, clever, and open. He liked her. Very much. Perhaps too much.

  “So, Rorick Craigg is not your blood brother?” She’d been truthful since being discovered, but there were gaps in her story. “How did you meet, then?”

  “Papa was dodging debtors’ prison. He met my master, Mr. MacDonald, in a card game, who then offered him passage in exchange for seven years servitude.” She stared at the wine glass for a long moment. “His last scam. Once we reached Boston, he would put me to work in a nice house. I would have a roof over my head, and my wages would pay his rent. Instead, I became chattel.”

  “He was a scoundrel.” Resentment fisted in his gut at the thought of a man forcing his little girl to support him. He remembered his own father’s sacrifices to support their family. The English scum had deserved his end, but his innocent daughter had not.

  “I never realized how selfish my father was until my mother died.”

  “You were a child.”

  “I remember crying myself to sleep after Mama left us. I was so lonely.”

  “She was a good mother?” He thought of the woman who had died giving birth to him. He would never know that bond.

  Katie nodded, a sad smile tipping up her lips. “She was gentle, and funny, and full of love. She would read to me and sing me bedtime lullabies. I look like her, I’m told.”

  “She was beautiful, then?” The blush he caused sent a matching warmth rushing over his skin. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “When Mr. MacDonald told me Papa was dead, I was devastated and so frightened. In one night, I had met my grandfather, thought I was to live with him, boarded a ship and lost my father.” Her eyes glistened with the memories. “Mrs. Craigg—Ma, as I came to call her—swooped in like a guardian angel. She and Rory were bound to Mr. MacDonald too. They became my family.”

  “So, you’ve lost two mothers and not yet lived twenty years.” Alexandre had a sudden urge to hold her close, erase the sadness in those crystal blue eyes. He also wondered at the similarities of their childhoods. Both torn from their beds as children, destined to grow up in a strange country, and make their own future. “You’ve grown into a strong woman. Both ladies would be proud of you.”

  Katie shrugged. “The plan is to find my grandparents in London. However, since I was so young and don’t know their surnames, I’m at a disadvantage.” She sipped at the wine, then licked a drop from the corner of her mouth.

  Her tongue mesmerized him. Or parts of him. He concentrated on her words. “Which brings us up to the present, when I snatched you from the villain in Boston.”

  She nodded and held out her glass. “Would I be terribly rude to ask for more?”

  From her giggle, he assumed the first glass had already gone to her head. Perhaps she would sleep well. “I’m happy to share.” He poured them both a half glass, smiling at her pretty pout.

  “It’s your turn. Tell me about the dashing Captain Lecroix. Why have you never married?”

  “My friends call me Zander. I believe that’s what we are becoming.” He watched for her reaction.

  Her smile was radiant. His heart pinched. When had a woman affected him like this? Never. He hadn’t had time to think of courtship, let alone marriage and a family. He was a captain, first and foremost, strict but fair. The rare moments he let down his guard and became Zander—a man with a past, a sense of humor, emotions, and dreams—were relegated to reminisces with Seamus and visits with his stepmother or half-sister.

  How much should he tell her?

  “My father was a count. We fled France in ’92, during the Terror, and settled in northern England, near the Scottish border. Seamus MacLeod was my first friend.”

  “You’re a count? A pirate with a title.” She pondered that for a moment, then grinned. “Do you have a grand estate?”

  He chuckled. “No. All the lands were forfeited during the Revolution. My title carries no value whatsoever.”

  “How old were you when you left your home?”

  “Seven.” It had been ages since he’d thought about his early years. “My father was widowed after my mother died giving me life. He said ‘real love’ found him after that. My stepmother’s Romany family had traveled through our village when I was four. That’s how they met. A torrid affair followed, and Melissandre stayed behind when her family moved on. She, too, was disowned in the name of love.”

  “Did they marry?”

  He shook his head. “Not while in France. My father loved her but wouldn’t go against his family or society. It wasn’t an ‘appropriate’ match, to say the least. My grandfather had an apoplexy when he heard me call her Mama.” Zander laughed, remembering the old man’s red face, the spluttering curses, the bulging eyes. �
��I think I repeated it after that just to goad him. Regardless, once the mobs reached our village, we absconded the estate, also under the cloak of darkness. He refused to leave Mel behind. Besides being my caregiver, she was also the only mother I’d ever known.”

  “What happened after you left France… Zander?”

  He warmed at the sound of his name on her tongue. Katie seemed to silently coax more words from him. He told her of their years of destitution, her father’s forced humility, teaching nobleman’s sons the skills of fencing. “Two years later, my half-sister Rose was born. My father had taken ill, so he married Melissandre, hoping her status as a widow to a defunct count would help us after he died.”

  “Did it?”

  He shook his head, remembering the odd jobs he’d done to keep a roof over their heads. “Besides the fact England was at war with France, my stepmother is of Romany blood. Two strikes against her, she used to say. So, I did what I could to bring in extra coin.”

  “How old were you when you lost your father?”

  “The same age as you, not quite ten. By the time I was fourteen, I talked my way on a brig as a ship’s boy. I found my passion was the sea, and I was able to send money home to help support Mel and my sister, Rose.”

  “Is your stepmother still alive?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes. She no longer needs to work, though I don’t know if she could ever be idle.” This conversation reminded him how long it had been since he’d seen his family. Had it really been two years? A pang reverberated in his chest, thinking of the two women. “My sister is a ladies’ maid for a wealthy merchant’s family in London. Making connections, my mother says. Rose gave me my nickname. She had trouble pronouncing Alexandre when she learned to talk, so I became Zander.”

  “You have quite a story yourself, Count Zander Lecroix,” she said with another giggle. “From fugitive to ship’s boy to your own ship. Now I understand the name, The Escape.”

  “My stepmother always thought it curious that I inherited the wanderlust of her family, though we weren’t blood.” Perhaps destiny had taken that craving from her and transferred it to him. Or perhaps it had to do with one’s soul. “At least she understood. My father would have been horrified at my way of life.”

  “I don’t think so.” Katie reached over and laid her hand over his. “Thank you for everything. My rescue, your understanding toward Rory, and-and sharing your history. I have the impression you are usually more guarded.”

  Yet, he had spilled his life story to her. The only other people who knew so much about him were his stepmother, half-sister, and Seamus. He thought about how their lives had run parallel in so many ways. Loss of parents, loss of homeland. While Katie had remained optimistic, he had become cynical.

  Katie yawned loudly, and he saw her lids droop. “I believe sleep may be calling you. I doubt you had much rest in the hold.”

  “Thank goodness for Stormy, or I’d have been scared to death.” She covered her mouth as another yawn overtook her.

  “Stormy?”

  “The cat.”

  “Ah, I see.” He rose, went to the bed, and pulled the counterpane back. “I’ll set up the hammock on the other side of the cabin and hang a blanket for your privacy.”

  When he turned back, her head was pillowed in her arms, elbows resting on the table. A faint snore drifted across the room. He chuckled. “I warned you about fine French wine.”

  Zander scooped her into his arms and set her on the mattress. She smiled in her sleep and clung to his neck. He grasped her fingers to release their hold, and she mumbled, “My first kiss. You were my first kiss.”

  He sat down next to her and gathered her hands in one of his and smoothed the hair from her face. She was lovely, lying next to him, half-asleep. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Don’t leave me,” she murmured.

  “No, little one, I’ll be right here.” She smiled, her eyes closed, and laced her fingers through his. A protectiveness filled him, a need to keep this woman safe, to…

  Zander leaned over her and brushed her mouth with his. She sighed and snuggled deeper under the counterpane. “You’re more dangerous than a siren,” he whispered, “because you’re real.” And as precious as any cargo on this ship, he thought.

  Katie was a little girl again, her mother singing her to sleep. She dreamt of angels, and ships, and handsome pirates. Mama hovered above, telling Katie to look for another guardian angel. The last one, the forever one. Her lids popped open, and she took in her surroundings, trying to remember where she was. The bed was soft and warm, but it moved. A gentle sway that reminded her she was on a ship. The walls were a dark, gleaming wood and a window of leaded glass, with small diamond-shaped panes, allowed the morning sun to flood the cabin. An empty hammock was strung across the small alcove, guarding the two shelves of leather-bound texts.

  She stretched, her arms above her head, her toes pointed, and let out a loud, raucous yawn. A smile curved her lips as the captain’s face swam before her. So handsome. And kind. She had not expected that. He’d given up his bed and not murdered Rory. Still, he was a smuggler and, therefore, dangerous.

  She rose and walked to the table, already used to the shifting of the floor. Bread, butter, and cheese had been left on the table. Searching the room, she found a thin rope and tied it around her waist, the nightshirt hanging to her knees over the breeches. There was too much material to keep stuffing inside her trousers. Katie felt like a little girl playing dress-up in her parents’ clothes. Her fingers combed through her hair, pulling at her scalp. But separating the tresses was worth the pain.

  Here she was, a stowaway on a smuggler’s ship, and she’d been treated better in the past two days than she could remember. Her stomach twittered at the thought of the captain. Zander, she corrected herself, remembering his request to call him by his nickname. He’d carried her to bed, his touch so gentle. “Little one,” he’d called her. Little one.

  Her mother’s endearment for her. Katie had known Mama had sent Mrs. Craigg to her when the woman had called her that. Had she also sent Zander? Katie hummed as she buttered the bread and took a bite of the hard cheese. Lost in her thoughts, she jumped when the door opened.

  Rory entered. “Sorry if I frightened ye, Katie. I’m to bring ye some tea. I don’t think it’s very hot anymore.” His brown eyes scanned the room suspiciously. “Are ye all right?”

  Her grin had a mind of its own. She couldn’t wipe it off. “Yes, I’m fine. And you?”

  “I can’t believe he’s only docking my wages. But we’re to tell no one, and ye can’t leave this cabin without permission.” He wagged a finger at her. “Do ye have any idea how lucky we are?”

  She nodded, her amusement gone. “You risked so much for me.”

  “Captain said he would be down later. Do you need anything?” Rory asked, ignoring her statement.

  “There is one thing, and if you can’t manage it, I understand,” she began. “I’ll go mad doing nothing here all day. Could I help Patch from here, preparing food? Is there seamstress work I could do?”

  “Ha! That’s so like you. I’ll ask, but don’t get your hopes up. Besides, it’s only a month.” He put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a half-hug. “Maybe practice your letters before you meet your grandparents?”

  That made her pause. “That’s a wonderful idea.” She walked to the several shelves behind the makeshift hammock and studied the leather spines of the books. “They look so… literary.”

  Rory laughed. “I’m sure it will come back to you. I wish I could help, but the only letter I know is X to sign my name.”

  An hour later, Katie was pulling at her hair as she struggled to read the text before her. Many of Zander’s collections were mariner texts, but this was a poem. It should have been easier. Her mother had read poetry to her, and the words had seemed to float from her mouth. Katie stood and paced the cabin, her thoughts returning to the captain.

  As if summoning him with her mind, Zander app
eared at the door. “Oh!” she exclaimed, turning to find him leaning against the doorjamb, a slight smile on his face. “You’re as stealthy as a cat.”

  “Which leads to my question.” He shut the door and walked toward her. “I understand you are in need of company. Would you like me to track down your cat?”

  “You’d let me keep him here?” she asked. At least she would be talking to something that lived and breathed, rather than the walls. “I would be ever so grateful.”

  He grinned. “We’ll allow him to visit during the day, but at night he needs to earn his keep.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed. “Is there anything I can do while I’m in here? I’m not accustomed to sitting all day.”

  He paused at the table and flipped the book to read the cover. “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. One of my favorites. Have you read it before?”

  Heat spread across her cheeks. “No. Mama taught me to read, but it’s been years since I’ve attempted it. I find myself quite frustrated. It’s like a secret code, and I can only unlock a few words at a time.”

  “I’d be happy to help tonight after supper.” Zander stood in front of her and tipped her chin. “Books were a great comfort to me when I was younger. As an adult, they helped fill the time on long voyages.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?” Katie asked, peeking at him through her lashes. His touch sent a shiver through her. “I’m afraid I’ll embarrass my grandparents when we finally meet.”

  “I’d hate for you to worry over something I could resolve so easily.” He dropped his hand and gave her a wink. “We’ll practice your recitation and penmanship every night after supper. You’ll be an absolute bluestocking before you reach London.”

  “A blue what?” She imagined blue stockings would be expensive.

  “It’s a term for an intelligent woman,” he said with a chuckle. “Perhaps we’ll work on some of the cant you’ll hear in London as well.”