“Before I leave, I beg an indulgence of you, Mrs. MacCloud.” Ariadne’s hands gripped the side of the bunk so tightly, her knuckles whitened.
“What you possibly want from me?”
The other woman plunged her hand deep within a pocket inside her red woolen cape. Willa started and stepped back when she extended a locket on a gold chain with a tiny, smooth, painted oval hinged to the top.
“It’s a locket with a miniature of my aunt for my cousin, Viola.”
For a moment, Willa felt a frisson of vertigo. She did not trust the woman pressing closer now, her halo of curls a study in light and dark as she blotted out most of the glow from the lanterns. The woman’s flowery scent was so overpowering, Willa swayed and sat down suddenly on the bunk.
“I cannot…would not.”
“Please, do not deny me this small favor. It would mean so much to my cousin. Her husband is an English officer on St. Helena. She’s not seen anyone from our family for years.”
Willa stood suddenly and pushed against Ariadne, forcing her to back away and give her space. “I do not trust you. I cannot give credence to anything you say. Now I understand why Dr. MacCloud warned me against you.”
Ariadne cocked her head to the side and gave Willa a long, considering look. “I can see I’ve underestimated you, Mrs. MacCloud. However, have you considered there may be more than one reason Cullen does not want us conversing in private?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, but I do have a proposition for you.”
Willa remained silent, her eyes steady on Ariadne.
“If you perform this small favor for me, perhaps I will not need to send this letter to the Admiralty.”
In spite of her determination not to show fear, Willa’s fingers shook when she reached for the letter. The letter held by the woman whose malevolence sucked up all the air in the tiny cabin.
Cullen leaned against the rail and watched the foaming surges and whirlpools on the water’s surface below that signaled they were in the strait leading to Gibraltar. It was as if the mighty Mediterranean Sea and even mightier Atlantic Ocean struggled for supremacy in the narrow passage, using every trick they could conjure to challenge the unwary seafarer. At one point, the width of the strait narrowed to not quite nine nautical miles. The African lands of Morocco lay to starboard, the Spanish coast to larboard.
Scents of land - rotting fish with overtones of orange and spices - wafted over the water with the breezes, and an occasional land bird drifted out to the middle of strait. One of the little buggers, probably a small sandpiper, had landed near Cullen’s elbow before dropping down amongst the coiled ropes and nodding off into a nap.
He envied the creature’s blithe ignorance of life’s woes. He could not believe that little over a month before, he’d been ignorant of Willa’s very existence, let alone the non-stop madness she would wreak on his carefully ordered path.
Now he was cork-brained in love with a woman who was apparently trapped between two worlds. What was he thinking when he thought she could change worlds as easily as her clothes?
She hadn’t considered the consequences to herself, or to him, before taking off on her spectacular ascent up the mizzen to save a ship’s boy from cracking his fool skull on the deck. He worried that now the crew would treat her differently, or, God forbid, treat him with less respect after the spectacle of his wife climbing to the tops, her skirts billowing in the wind in full view of everyone. And then there was First Lieutenant Dalton. That one would bear watching. Willa had admitted the man had made advances to her when she was Will. What the hell was he playing at now?
Willa stared into the dark of the cabin. After she’d finally gotten rid of Madame de Santis, she’d snuffed the lantern and climbed onto the bunk to sit cross-legged and think.
The locket with the miniature on the lid that she’d reluctantly accepted from the sorry hussy was now hidden in the folds of one of Wills’ old shirts in her sea chest. She sifted over and over in her thoughts the contents of the letter Ariadne had shown her. On the one hand, she wanted to renounce the letter out of hand as a fabrication and refuse to serve as Ariadne’s courier. But on the other hand, if it were true, her husband could hang if the evidence were sent to the Admiralty.
The rational thing to do would be to confront Cullen and demand an explanation. But, if the incriminating facts were true, a small, shameful part of her did not want to know. A sudden chill made her want to layer on another shawl, and her heartbeat stuttered at the thought of such a difficult conversation. When had this man come to mean so much to her? And why was she so terrified of what the incriminating letter contained that she was refusing to face up to what she should do?
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the light tap on the cabin entry followed by Cullen’s appearance with the softly glowing lantern they now kept outside when one of them went above decks in the evening.
In the darkened cabin he’d probably assume she was asleep. She leaned back against the bulkhead and closed her eyes, listening to the familiar sounds of him preparing for bed and stowing his writing desk before padding softly toward the bunk.
“You’re awake?”
“Yes. I wrote for awhile and then decided to stare into the dark to think.”
“And what you’re thinking - is it anything you’d like to tell the doctor?”
“No.”
He chuckled across the silence before climbing up next to her. He took her in his arms and gave an humph. “You’re still dressed. I feel naked. Wait, I am naked. Why isn’t my wife naked?”
In spite of all the tension and fear boiling inside, Willa laughed at the silly man. The silly man who had come to mean everything to her.
Later, Cullen held Willa until her deep breathing signaled she’d slipped off to sleep. If anyone had told him a year ago that unfulfilled love-making would be something he’d not only accede to but crave, he would have called them a liar.
He recalled the now-distant day in the tea shop where they’d quarreled about how Wills, the man, should leave the ship and complete his education. The stubborn set of her chin and the imperious look she threw him from beneath dark lashes when he’d said something wrong-headed had not changed. She was still the same person.
How bitter a pill his advice on that far-off day must have been to a woman who had already been working in disguise as a physician’s assistant for years. Only her sex prohibited her from taking formal training, or receiving formal recognition. The skills she’d exhibited that day by his side trying to save the crew member who’d fallen from the tops were extraordinary for an un-trained surgeon. But then, she’d stood by her father’s side during some of the heaviest naval battles against the French. She would have served with her father from 1810 until the present. They’d been on H.M.S. Cerberus with Captain Whitby at the Battle of Vis in 1811 in the Adriatic Sea. According to Captain Still, there had been thirteen deaths and forty-one wounded on their ship.
At twenty-nine, Cullen had seen his share of action as well, from the bloody Battle of Pirano in 1812 in the Adriatic aboard H.M.S. Victorious to the Battle of Algiers in 1816 with Lord Exmouth’s expedition aboard the H.M.S. Leander.
Much of the medicine he’d practiced with the African Squadron had involved trying to save as many crewmen as possible from tropical fever. And then there were the slaves they liberated. They’d been exposed to malnutrition, yellow fever, and typhus. The conditions on slave ships were abominable. The stench was something you never forgot. Sometimes he’d dream and re-live the horrors, waking up with his bed linens soaked with sweat.
He smoothed the hair from Willa’s forehead and feathered kisses across her brows before settling her down next to him on the bunk. The rest of the passage would be bumpy, and they’d both probably wake off and on that night as the Arethusa lumbered her way through the strait’s foaming, contrary waves.
Cullen folded his hands behind his head and took his turn staring into the cabin’s murky corners,
wondering what had happened to make his wife sit in the dark and contemplate God knows what.
The sun dominated and terrorized a sky bereft of a single cloud while they made gradual progress toward Gibraltar. They’d already sighted the rock at about six miles in the distance, but the wildly divergent currents and tidal flows made forward progress an on-again, off-again thing. Willa did not envy the sailing master or the man at the wheel guiding the ship through the strange waters. At one point, the roiling water formed a standing wave of about a meter. They’d reached the point where Captain Still stayed on deck to monitor their progress and make sure only the knackiest sailors were in positions of responsibility.
He eyed the canvas and had Lieutenant Dalton signal the topmen to add more sail for the crucial moment when they’d need momentum for the larboard turn toward Gibraltar’s harbor.
She pulled the wide brim of her straw bonnet down to manage as much shade as possible for her face. She’d made a vow after her fast, humiliating trip up the mizzen mast. In the future, she’d avoid unladylike, “hoyden” activities, if only for Cullen’s sake. She knew how much the rest of the crew and officers had gossiped and speculated about her ever since the incident two nights previous. She’d come to care too much for Cullen to let the ship’s crew make fun of him for his odd wife’s behavior behind his back.
Next to her, Cullen was giving a sailor advice on how to apply a poultice to draw out swelling in his groin, and both were turned away from her, as if she would be embarrassed about something that, as Wills, she’d been treating for years.
Cullen bit back a smile at his prickly wife’s stiffened posture when he’d turned away to treat the gunner’s mate. He’d bruised his scrotum in a fall down a companionway on his way to the powder magazine.
He hated to think so, but he could almost predict what was going on behind her gray eyes snapping out a challenge directed at him.
When he turned suddenly, she blushed furiously. “Mrs. MacCloud, would you mind finishing this poultice dressing for Mr. Bates?” The sailor’s brows shot up, and he took an involuntary step back.
Cullen leaned close to the patient. “It’s all right. You needn’t worry on her behalf. My wife is used to treating all sorts of shipboard ailments. Have a seat over there on the cot.”
Once the man had moved away from them, Cullen spoke low to her. “I apologize if you were offended when I tried to protect you from an, ah, unpleasant task.”
Willa cut her gaze away from him without a word and moved to the side of the gunner’s mate.
Now what? Cullen thought he’d done the right thing by treating her as he would any surgeon’s mate. He let out a deep sigh and moved to the next patient with a flayed palm from a fast slide down a rope to the deck. He reached for a basin of clean water and shook his head. He would never understand women, let alone this particular woman.
Chapter Fifteen
Willa inhaled the smells of land, taking in the sounds of the busy military port. The barking of dogs drifted across the water as their launch neared the North Mole. She remembered how most of the Genoese fishermen native to Gibraltar seemed to have a dog or two trailing after them in the bustling squares.
Army regiments ranging from Royal Engineers and Fusiliers to regular Foot moved in and out of Gibraltar with thousands of troops at the small but critical post on any given day. They maintained and guarded the town and surrounding military batteries. Several other Royal Navy ships in addition to the Arethusa were anchored nearby in the wide bay. Gibraltar served as sentinel to the strait’s narrow access to the Mediterranean, critical to British interests. As a consequence, the military presence was always strong here.
She’d volunteered to go to the fruit and vegetable market in Plaza de las Verduras to secure more limes and lemons for the ship’s provisions. The juices were added each day to the men’s grog allotments to prevent scurvy.
Although Cullen had worried over the expedition and warned her to have a care in the port town, she was escorted by one of the Arethusa’s marines, a cook’s mate, and Captain Still’s cabin boy servant, Charles. Ever since she’d plucked him from a disastrous slip from the mizzen, he’d followed her like a small shadow whenever he had free time from his shipboard duties. When Lieutenant Dalton had asked for volunteers to accompany Willa on the provisioning expedition, the boy had quickly pleaded to be allowed to go along.
She hadn’t argued with her husband’s warning, but seethed silently, reminding herself everyone assumed she’d never ventured beyond the small Scottish town in which she’d grown up. Cullen alone knew the truth, which made his worries even more annoying.
Willa resented his concern, even though she realized it was because he cared. Nonetheless, she’d given him a sharp look when she’d left him in the midst of directing cleaning and fumigation of the lower decks of the Arethusa.
“Have you ever seen anything like the rock?” Marine Sergeant Claridge interrupted her resentful thoughts, pointing toward the summit of the rock formation towering more than a thousand feet above them. Willa forced herself to think through her reply for a few moments. The Arethusa’s coxswain had just lowered the sails on the launch and deftly threw the looped end of the dock line over a piling at the North Mole breakwater.
Willa gave Sergeant Claridge a considered look. “Of course, I’ve seen rock croppings back in Scotland, but nothing this imposing.” When conversing with crew members, she tried to take her time and make up plausible replies as she went. The noonday angle of the sun drenched the sides of the rock with plenty of light, but within a few hours, shadows would creep beneath the summit, throwing the switchbacks slashing up the sides into an early dusk.
“I’ve never been to a latitude this far south, though. The sun feels good on my face, and I’m looking forward to seeing the palmettos and geranium hedges up close. I’ve heard about them for years in letters from my brother and father.”
The Arethusa’s coxswain secured the dock lines before moving toward Willa to help her from the boat. Young Charles beat him to the honor, jumping ahead of her to the dock and extending his hand. She handed her parasol to the boy and joined them, followed closely by the cook’s mate who carried stacks of empty woven baskets for bringing back the fruit.
Once they’d walked along the breakwater to the small town of Gibraltar, she began to understand why Ariadne had affected the dramatic dark red cape edged with black velvet she’d been wearing on the deck of the Arethusa ever since they’d left Portsmouth. Everywhere Willa looked, local women walking in groups or stopping to talk were wearing the ubiquitous scarlet cape, with hoods that served to hide their faces.
Ariadne most certainly would have blended in and disappeared the night before when she’d left on a shore boat headed to the harbor town with her partner, Monsieur Duvall. Willa shuddered to think what they were up to now, or who the she-devil spy would terrorize next.
Willa had no trouble keeping up with the marine sergeant’s long strides. She was happy to find provisions as soon as possible and get back to the Arethusa. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Ariadne might be lurking around any corner. But that was ridiculous. She and her partner had probably contacted the captain of a private ship, or maybe another Royal Navy ship to take them on to Naples. But who knew if that story she’d told had been true?
“Mrs. MacCloud…” The small voice startled her. She’d almost forgotten young Charles was still with them. She turned in his direction. “Yes?”
“How much farther to the lemons?” He was skipping in an attempt to keep up with the rest of the party.
“Soon, Charles,” she said. “You’ll see a line of donkeys the farmers use to cart their wares to market and deliver to ships down at the mole.”
“Donkeys?”
“Yes, they wait patiently all day, their ears flicking at flies.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she stole a furtive look at Sergeant Claridge. Willa MacCloud would have no way of knowing that much detail about the fruit and vegetable v
endors’ pack animals.
“Do you think I could pet them?”
“You should ask, but I don’t think anyone would complain.”
The marine lieutenant snapped a warning at the boy. “Show a little decorum there. You’re not on an outing, you’re on the King’s business.”
He quieted and lowered his head, but as soon as the marine turned away, Charles gave Willa a sideways wink, and mischief danced in his eyes.
The marine suddenly leaned close to Willa’s ear and whispered. “That ninny-hammer has a lot to learn. I hope he survives his wool-gathering on deck without any more accidents like the one you saved him from.”
When a hot flush flooded her face, the lieutenant continued in a low voice. “Yes, I was there.” The knowing look on his face made her stomach drop like a bird shot out of the sky, fluttering and turning over and over. He’d seen her race up the mizzen, skirts flying.
Once they entered the plaza, she spied another clutch of women in red capes but forced herself not to stare to see if Ariadne was one of them. With any luck, the bitch was already gone from Gibraltar.
She’d no more than convinced herself to cease worrying every time she saw a woman in a red cape, than a large group of swarthy men stormed quickly through the square, heading north. A shiver of a premonition snaked up her spine, and she quickened her steps toward the vendors’ stalls. She motioned to one of the men to load as many limes and lemons as he had for sale into their baskets for ferrying back to the mole.
She and the cook’s mate made a quick perusal of the remaining stalls, and she chose a few items for herself and Cullen: Some bunches of greens and bright yellow and red peppers. As a self-indulgent afterthought, she also chose two plump oranges to save as a surprise for Christmas when, God-willing, they’d be on station at St. Helena.
Pride Of Duty: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 2 Page 12