Caution to the Wind (American Heroes)

by Mary Jean Adams

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Will awoke the following morning in a state of bemused lethargy. His brain mired in a fog, he considered doing nothing more than lying in his hammock all day. As captain, he would normally be up and about before sunrise, but the harsh glare through the high windows told him sunrise had been hours ago.

  Will yawned and stretched muscles unaccustomed to use. He considered rising, but only for a moment. Even a captain ought to have the right to sleep in every once in awhile. Hunger gnawed at his belly, but he didn’t want breakfast just yet. He glanced at the empty space next to him and gave a wicked little grin. In time, he would teach Amanda that one didn’t always need to be so attentive to duty.

  The memory of his adventurous she-wolf only intensified his hunger. She had been a fast learner last night, unafraid and uninhibited, just what one might expect from a woman with enough daring to sign on to a privateer. What she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.

  Still, he had vowed to take his time with her, to ease her introduction to lovemaking and give her the leeway to retreat if she wanted to.

  A vision of her, pale lashes sweeping against flushed cheeks, lips swollen from passionate kisses, hands reaching out to touch him in the most intimate of ways, made him groan in near pain.

  She had enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he. Then, as they fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, she had declared her love for him. He would have laughed with joy were it not likely to bring Buck running to see what addled his captain.

  Sighing, he considered that he must at least dress. Eventually, he would be needed on deck. He eyed his blue woolen coat, slung carelessly over the back of a chair, a bulge in one pocket marring its crisp lines. In the heat of the moment, he had completely forgotten the peace offering, betrothal gift, farewell gift. That mattered little, he decided. He would have plenty of time to present it to her today—as a betrothal gift. After last night, there could be no doubt she needed him as much as he needed her.

  Will stood to dress, taking his time so he might not be fully finished when Amanda returned to his quarters with his breakfast. He would satisfy one hunger at a time.

  Alas, the anticipated knock at his door didn’t come until he had finished tying his cravat in the small mirror above the basin.

  “Come in.” The mirror reflected an eager light in his eyes.

  Damn, he looked like a man besotted, or at least one well satisfied. He would have to dim his enthusiasm a bit before he went on deck to preserve Amanda’s reputation not to mention his own. A ship’s captain should not be so affected by a night of passion, or a woman.

  Cookie entered, carrying a tray in his chubby hands. “Mornin’, sir. Shall I set this on the desk, sir?”

  Will nodded. The cook’s uncharacteristically formal manner set him on edge.

  “Very good, sir.” Cookie laid the tray at the edge of the desk, and then proceeded to arrange Will’s breakfast things in a way that reminded him of Amanda’s attention to detail. Evidently, she had given him precise instructions this morning.

  “Where is she?”

  “Pardon, sir?” Cookie asked, looking up from the pitcher of cream he had just set next to the captain’s coffee.

  “Amanda. Where is she?”

  “Not here.” Cookie rearranged the cup and saucer, adjusting and readjusting the angle of the cup’s handle.

  “I can see that,” Will said through gritted teeth. “But where is she?”

  “I don’t rightly know, sir.” Cookie scratched behind his ear and studied the arrangement.

  Will drew back the linen cloth that covered his breakfast. The light yellow of hard cooked yolks surrounded by charred whites interlaced with flecks of brown scrapings stared back at him. Cookie’s eggs.

  “She didn’t make breakfast?”

  “No, sir, I made it.” Cookie’s shoulders slumped.

  Will wanted to strangle the full truth out of the portly little Irishman, but he grappled with his temper and decided to take it one step at a time. After all, if Amanda had deserted him, he still needed a cook.

  “Did you see her this morning?” he asked

  “Yes.” Cookie nodded, chins wobbling.

  Will had hoped for a more effusive response, but at least the man hadn’t started out with a lie. In fact, he seemed eager to cooperate. Will suspected he would have said more had someone not given him specific instructions about what not to say. The way Cookie refused to meet his eyes left him no doubt as to the identity of that certain someone.

  No matter. Cookie’s response so far suggested he simply needed to ask the right questions. Later, he would explain to his cook that orders from the cook’s assistant did not outrank direct questions from the captain.

  “Where?” The one syllable held both question and command.

  “On deck,” Cookie said with a slight hesitation, as though he were measuring his answer against a list of things he wasn’t supposed to reveal. Cookie tugged at his collar.

  “What was she doing when you saw her?” His voice was slow, measured.

  A look of panic flashed in Cookie’s eyes, and his gaze darted about the room, searching for a means of escape. Will knew he had chosen the right tack.

  “Leaving,” Cookie said, his gaze dropping to the floor in defeat.

  “Leaving?” Will roared, making Cookie jump. “With whom? And did she say where the hell she was going?”

  “She didn’t tell you?” Doctor Miller asked from just outside Will’s door.

  The doctor gave a silent signal to Cookie and the cook nodded. He hunched his shoulders and shuffled from the captain’s quarters.

  “Didn’t tell me what?” Will ground out once he and the doctor were alone.

  “She left early this morning to go ashore to live with her father,” Doctor Miller said. “I assumed you knew, given that you’ve been trying to get her off the ship for months now. With her father alive, she has no reason to remain. And there is your rule.”

  “I don’t need you reminding me of my rules, Doctor,” Will said, his words laced with warning. He raked his hand through his hair. “She’s been a member of my crew for months now as well as my personal cook. You didn’t think it odd that I didn’t see her off?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Well, actually, I didn’t see her leave either. I heard from the men when they returned with the transport boat. But don’t worry. Martin said they left her safely in the care of Mr. Blakely.”

  Will stomach clenched. The last time she had been left in her father’s care, he had gone off to war, leaving his children to fend for themselves. What’s more, he still didn’t quite trust the elder Blakely’s good sense not to bring his daughter trouble. The man talked too much, and in his experience, those who did were often indiscreet.

  It annoyed him that his men would have rowed her ashore without express orders from their captain. His recent conversation with Buck came back to him. Evidently, his men were as eager to please her as they were to serve him. Then he remembered that her new wardrobe had not yet arrived. If she wore that damn green dress again, and he knew that she had since he had dumped everything else overboard, they wouldn’t have given him a second thought. When he got her back, he would have a talk with her, and a few of his men, about who commanded this ship.

  “Shall I ask Buck to send someone to bring her back?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you, Doctor. That will be all.”

  After the doctor left, Will rubbed his hand against the back of his neck and blew a pent-up breath between pursed lips. She had thrown him overboard!

  He paced the small confines of his quarters. How could he have misread Amanda? After months in close quarters, and their shared intimacy, he thought he knew her as well as he knew anyone. He had been so certain of her affections, that he had almost convinced himself a formal marriage proposal would be unnecessary. What woman, especially an innocent, would jump into bed with a man she didn’t intend to marry?


  Yet, she had left him, forever, without so much as a farewell.

  Will shook his head, disgusted. He acted like a damn bridegroom, jilted at the altar. Well he wouldn’t sit around moping and waiting for his lover to return. He stopped pacing and strode out the door, scaling the stairs to the upper deck in two steps.

  The first reaction from his crew did nothing to soothe his irritation. Several men stopped what they were doing to eye him for a moment before they busied themselves, even more diligently than before, with whatever task lay at hand. Even the more slovenly among his crew were unusually hard-working this morning.

  “Buck, take us away from this damn coast,” Will grumbled. “I need some fresh sea air.”

  “Any destination in particular, sir?” Buck asked.

  Will glared at him. Buck knew he had free rein to improvise when his orders were nonspecific. His request for clarification seemed an obvious attempt to needle his captain. The counsel Buck had given yesterday spoke volumes about his soft spot for Amanda. He probably thought Will had sent her ashore, and now sought to make him suffer for it. He would regain command of his ship, starting with his second in command.

  “Don’t toy with me, Buck,” Will said.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Buck said with nary a trace of his usual good humor. “I just wondered if you had a destination in mind.”

  “Away from here!” Will exploded.

  He gave a snort of disgust and strode to the bulwark. He had to get away from Buck before he did something he regretted and destroyed his relationship with his closest friend.

  Did Buck think he had sent Amanda to live with her father? Did he think him capable of leaving her behind? He would let him think that for now. It was preferable to explaining that he had been the one abandoned.

  Will clasped his hands at his back and stared at the sea, adopting a stoic expression he hoped did not betray his inner turmoil. Only those brave enough to venture close would be able to sense the tension lying just below the surface, but his men gave him a wide berth.

  Damn her and damn them! And damn his small ship!

  Sailors loved nothing more than a juicy piece of gossip, setting upon it like a pack of gulls.

  From the way they avoided him, his crew might well know he and Amanda had spent the night together. If one man had seen her race into his cabin last night, they would all know by morning. They would also know, even before he did, that she had left him.

  Will’s stomach clenched, and he was glad he had not eaten Cookie’s eggs.

  Ever since she came on board, he seemed to be the last to know everything. Perhaps it was better for his crew, and for him, if she were gone. Her very presence undermined his authority, disrupted his ability to command, and weakened crew morale. Despite Buck’s assertions to the contrary, he had been right all along, women did not belong on ships.

  “My glass!” Will bellowed, startling a sailor who had been careless enough to wander close.

  The man retrieved the spyglass, handed it to his captain and then scurried away.

  Will snapped open the long tube and held it to his eye. The wind whipping his hair about his face, he scanned the horizon. Buck ordered full sail, and the Amanda picked up speed, skipping across the waves, leaving Baltimore behind.

  He would give anything for an English ship to appear on the horizon just now, but the crisp line where sea met sky remained unmarred by cloud or sail. He continued to scan, hoping to appear less brooding. He could not let his crew see how much her departure had affected him.

  He lowered the spyglass and caught a few of the sailors scanning the horizon as well, their hands shielding their eyes against the glare of the morning sun. His mood elevated ever so slightly. There was nothing like the all-consuming prospect of chasing a British prize to take the focus off him.

  Alas, with the aid of the glass, he could see there were no enemy ships upon which to vent his anger and frustration. He snapped the instrument shut. If only he could have willed a ship to appear. Or better yet, a whole squadron. In fact, prudence be damned, he felt like taking on a ship of war instead of a straggling merchantman. He wanted a fight, and if he couldn’t have it with her, the whole of the Royal Navy might do.

  Staring out at the empty horizon, Will pondered how best to spend the next month vexing the English and forgetting Amanda. The English forces and the loyal Tories in America were hungry for supplies, and that translated into more opportunities for him. His chance would come.

  The mere thought of the hunt sent a primal thrill coursing through him. If he were lucky, he would spend the next month or so, prowling the seas, and not think of Amanda for more than a moment. Will clasped his hands behind his back. With no English in sight, he allowed himself to envision Amanda’s future.

  She would languish on shore, drinking tea with her father and his acquaintances. She might make a few female friends, provided she could knock off some of the rough edges she had developed aboard ship. He chuckled, wondering if she could manage to keep a civil tongue while playing a game of whist. He doubted she even knew she had a penchant for swearing under her breath when frustrated.

  After life at sea, she would be drowning in boredom after a month, probably less. Once he had bloodied a few British noses, he would track her down at her father’s home, whence forth she would plead with him to take her back even as a lowly member of his crew. He would, of course, but only after she did a significant amount of apologizing and agreed to marry him.

  A joyful possibility crossed his mind. Perhaps she would even be with child! He had taken no precautions. He hadn’t thought he needed to. After a month passed, she would surely know, and if she did carry his child, she would have no choice but to accept him.

  Of course, if she were pregnant, he would not give her the chance to plead. Nor would he give her the chance to decline his proposal. He would announce their betrothal to the world, and her father, and force her to the altar even if he had to carry her there himself.

  “Sail ho, Captain!” Nate cried from the platform above, snapping Will out of pleasant dreams of Amanda’s ultimate surrender.

  “Where away?” Will called.

  “Off the port bow,” Nate bellowed.

  Will snapped open the glass again and scanned the horizon. A faint silhouette shimmered in the sunlight, no more than a flash of light and shadow before it disappeared again. The boy had excellent vision! Will peered through his glass, hoping it hadn’t been light bouncing off a distant wave or the remnants of a low wisp of cloud. His heart leapt when the shadow appeared again. Eyes straining against the glass, he watched it grow larger and resolve into the shape of a distant sail.

  He was about to give the order, when Nate called down again, “There’s three of ’em, sir!”

  Will brought the glass to his eye again. The armada he wished for took form and sent his mood soaring. Three square-rigged ships dotted the horizon. Already at full sail, the Amanda gained fast. They were English merchantmen, and from the size of them, all likely to be heavily armed and ready for a fight. Well, they would have it!

  Normally, three armed ships would be more than a lone schooner would take on, but the Amanda had sailed close enough for Will to see these ships were low in the water, indicating they bore heavy cargo. This and their size made them significantly less agile than the Amanda.

  A fresh breeze tugged at Will’s hair, and he lifted his face to the wind. The blustery weather could be unpredictable, but the Amanda had been built to handle herself in capricious seas. The trick would be to disable, perhaps even sink, one of the ships to even the odds. It would mean the loss of a prize, but it would lessen the risk for his crew, and he wasn’t about to put the salving of his ego above their safety.

  His crew would have to hit the first merchantman “between wind and water”—the underside of the hull, normally below water, that showed when the ship rolled over in the waves. The nine-pound shot from his cannons could do considerable damage if aimed well, and they would have
to, because the men of the Amanda would not get another chance at it.

  Will snapped his glass shut again, his laughter bringing smiles to his crew. This had to be a good omen. Just after making plans to spend the next month vexing the British, the Good Lord had sent him three promising candidates to sink his teeth into. Now, if it wasn’t asking too much, perhaps God would see fit to ensure that Amanda would be miserable on land. Not too much, but enough to make her realize where she belonged.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The trip from the wharf to the home that Amanda’s father had established in Baltimore promised to be a dreary one. The small transport skiff bumped against the dock, and the first drop of cold rain hit Amanda’s cheek. With an anxious look in his eye, her father reached down with both hands to help her onto solid ground. When she informed him that she had no luggage, he shot her a questioning glance, but said nothing.

  Instead, he wrapped her hand in the crook of his elbow, capturing her as though he sensed her reluctance, and led her to a hired coach.

  The vehicle appeared as though it had been owned by someone of wealth and status at one time, but had fallen into disrepair. The gilded outlines of a stylized grayhound and a touch of red paint were all that remained of a family crest that once emblazoned the peeling ochre lacquer. Even the two sway-backed horses, with their bent heads, dull eyes, and protruding ribs, looked like relics from a faded past.

  How appropriate that such a dreary conveyance would carry her to a new life.

  Thunder rumbling in the distance, Amanda’s father handed her up into the shadowy interior. She glanced about, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Closer inspection did not improve her first impressions. Red velvet curtains, no more than rags really, hung at the dirt-encrusted windows. The gold cushions on the seat were matted and stained. Twin depressions, dark fibers delineating their edges, showed where countless derrieres had perched over the years. Still, she had never ridden in anything fancier than a horse drawn cart, so even in a state of disrepair, the coach would have fascinated her on any other day. Today, however, the dilapidated interior matched her despair.