Caution to the Wind (American Heroes)

by Mary Jean Adams

  If so, it made no sense. Will had served on the Serenity as a boy. Captain Goodman still commanded the ship last he had heard.

  It had been years since he had seen his former captain. He had been even younger than Neil when he first joined the Royal Navy and only slightly older when he left. Captain Goodman had gone a long way in replacing the hole left in his heart by the death of his father.

  While they were on opposite sides now, he didn’t think Captain Goodman bore him any ill will. But even if he did, revenge wasn’t his style. Captain Goodman held honor and devotion to duty above all else. He might put Will in chains, if he were able to capture him, but he would never target someone close to him.

  “Buck,” Will called, loud enough for his second to hear even if he were above deck.

  “Yes, sir?” Buck appeared so quickly Will surmised he had been waiting outside the door.

  “We sail back to Baltimore.”

  “Yes, sir!” Buck replied, his hazel eyes twinkling.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Amanda opened her eyes and coughed, spitting bits of moldy sawdust. Her cheek rested against rough wood and darkness surrounded her.

  Raucous male laughter drifted from somewhere above, a distant sound, as if left over from a dream. The room swayed and her stomach lurched, confirming that her surroundings were real enough. She closed her eyes again, swallowing the sharp sting of bile.

  How had she gotten here? Her last memories were of riding in her father’s coach, the broken springs threatening to throw her to the floor each time the spindled wheels found a rut. The constant drizzle of rain turned into a sudden downpour. Another coach got stuck in the mud and blocked the street. Her father got out to help…

  A thousand needles poked at her throat. There had been a man, or more precisely, there had been a man’s arm, beefy and covered with crisp hair, curled about her neck. She hadn’t seen the owner of the arm. Something rough had been thrown over her head. Burlap, judging from the way her face itched. None too clean, she added, crinkling her nose at the moldy odor clinging to her skin.

  Trying until her head throbbed, she couldn’t remember more. Her abductors, whomever they were, must have carried her unconscious body to this place. Amanda opened her eyes, trying to focus on something beyond the plank beneath her cheek. Wherever here was.

  After the dizziness passed, she tried to right herself by pushing against the rough-hewn planks with arms that didn’t seem to be her own. Looking down, she realized they were bound with a thin rope, almost a twine, wrapped several times around her wrists and pulled so tightly her hands had gone numb. Amanda flexed her fingers to return at least some of the circulation. Then she twisted her wrists trying to loosen her bindings. The rope dug in, tearing at her wrists until they burned.

  Amanda licked her dry lips, tasting the musty burlap sack on her tongue. Tiny fibers dug into her face, like pins in a pincushion, making her want to claw at her skin. She bore the pain of movement long enough to bring her bound hands up to brush a lock of hair from her eyes and at least some of the debris from her cheeks.

  Finally, the fog cleared from her brain and her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A sliver of yellow light shone through a crack in the planks, illuminating the dust and molds that hung in the air. By its faint light, she could see sacks of grain and other foodstuffs lining the walls. Footsteps sounded overhead, then a shadow passed by the light temporarily shrouding her prison in darkness.

  The dull thud of many heavy boots suggested a gathering of some sort. A short burst of laughter, a cheer, then the steady rumble of voices again. Were they playing a game—cards perhaps? She doubted they were eating since she couldn’t smell any food. Her stomach growled at the thought.

  Were they aware of her presence? If salvation sat less than ten feet away, one loud plea for help might bring them running. On the other hand, the odds were that these men were her prison guards. If she yelled, she might find herself gagged with that hateful sack, knocked over the head, or worse.

  The room swayed, tilting on its side as though pushed by an unseen force, then settled back into position. A moment later the pattern repeated. Sway, tilt, settle. Sway, tilt, settle. A familiar rhythm, one to which she had grown accustomed. Her captors had taken her aboard a ship. Beyond the sacks of grain sat row after row of barrels. Some of the larger ones looked like they might hold wine or rum. The smaller ones stacked into mini pyramids looked similar to those used to hold gunpowder on the Amanda. Beyond that, she couldn’t see clearly, the size of the hold being so large that it might have held the whole of the Amanda with room to spare.

  She tried to get a sense of how much time had passed, but there were no windows in the hold through which to gauge the time of day. It might have been hours since her abduction, or perhaps even days given the way her head throbbed. The faint light lacked the brilliance of sunlight and probably came from an oil lamp. It could very well be evening, or the deck above might simply be windowless.

  Perhaps not too much time had passed. The rate of the rhythmic rocking suggested they were still at anchor in shallow waters. Perhaps they had not set sail yet. She strained her ears for sounds that spoke of a nearby town or city, but heard nothing over the laughter of the men. Her stomach knotted when she considered the possibility they had reached their destination already.

  She licked dry lips again and surveyed her makeshift prison. Grain spilled from a few of the sacks around her, and her stomach growled again. She tried to work up enough saliva to swallow and ease the pain in her throat. Hunger was the least of her problems; the dried grain would be useless to her. Without water, she would die of thirst long before hunger claimed her.

  Surely, her captors wouldn’t leave her down here to waste away. What use could she be to them dead?

  A rat nibbled at a nearby sack, tearing a hole and unleashing a stream that formed a golden cone-shaped mound on the wooden planks. She fought back the image of what the rats would do to her if she were to die here among the cargo.

  No. She shook her head, instantly regretting the action when white-hot pain stabbed behind her eyes. If her captors wanted her dead, she would be dead by now. But what on earth could they want with her?

  She doubted this had anything to do with her father. He was a farmer and a common soldier and simply not important enough for anybody to gather notice.

  Could her kidnapping be somehow linked to Will? She had learned from some of the Amanda’s crew that he had amassed a fortune from privateering. She never knew how much of what her shipmates told her was true and how much they exaggerated. They did have a penchant for expanding a tale with every telling, and she had earned an unfortunate reputation for being gullible. Even so, the story probably held a kernel of truth. According to Buck, she had accumulated a sizable amount of funds herself. Perhaps her assailants would ask for a ransom.

  Panic welled anew when she thought of her gentle father coming face to face with the ruffians who had snatched her. He would gladly pay whatever they asked, but he didn’t have that kind of money, and she hadn’t had time to give him access to her accounts. She prayed he would have the soundness of mind to go to Captain Stoakes for help.

  Would Will pay a ransom?

  Probably, assuming the Amanda hadn’t weighed anchor and left Baltimore already. Nevertheless, the idea that Captain Stoakes might be searching for her even now, allowed some of her fear to subside. She leaned against the crate at her back, considering her situation from a more rational frame of mind.

  Although comforted by the notion, she also hated the thought of Captain Stoakes being the one to rescue her. She would owe him, and if she had to life her life without him, she preferred not to have any ties binding her to him. Perhaps she could free herself before her captors had a chance to make any demands, then her father and the captain wouldn’t be forced to deal with this mess.

  Scuffling feet and shouts sounded from the deck above. She tried to make out what they were saying, but the words were muted by the
heavy footfalls of numerous running boots.

  Had something caught the attention of the ship’s captain, something important enough for him to call all hands on deck? Despite her recent resolve to free herself, she nurtured a hope that the something came with piercing gold eyes and dark curly hair.

  As quickly as it began, the commotion died away, and Amanda’s hopes died with it. Perhaps it had been unreasonable to expect a rescue attempt so soon.

  A second rat gnawed at a bag, tearing through it with sharp teeth. Too bad she couldn’t enlist their help with her bindings.

  Another rat scurried over to nibble at the grain spilling out of the sack.

  What about something else sharp? She spied a nail supporting a coil of rope much like the strands that bound her hands. Amanda struggled to her feet, legs stiff from lying on the wooden planks. She could do little to balance herself with her hands tied and she fell, wincing when she banged her knee on the uneven edge of a plank.

  Once upright, she staggered toward the coil of rope. It hung at eye level and, on closer inspection, the square head of the nail appeared rather blunt. She glanced around her confines searching for a more promising option. Finding none, she raised her hands to the nail, grateful they were tied in front of her, making it easier to pick apart her bindings.

  She set to work, breaking one or two strands at a time. Her shoulders ached from holding her arms up to reach the nail, but steady progress urged her on. She made a mental note that should she ever need to tie somebody up and stash them in the hold, she would definitely tie their hands behind their back.

  ****

  Will hailed the HMS Serenity with a flag of parlay and was soon on the deck of the ship he had practically grown up on.

  “Will!” Captain Goodman greeted him. “Or, should I call you Captain Stoakes now?”

  “Will is fine, sir,” he said with a smile and a bow to his old captain. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me under the circumstances.”

  Captain Goodman would have none of Will’s formality. He grabbed him about the shoulders and pulled him into a bear hug. The warmth of his reception startled Will, but he returned the embrace with equal affection. He held his former captain in a higher regard than he did any man, including his own father. When independence had been declared, his only regret had been that it might cost him the dearest friendship he ever had.

  Captain Goodman released him, a jovial smile on his face and fatherly warmth shining in his eyes. Will knew war could not sever this bond.

  “What brings you on board my ship under a flag of parlay? Surely the war hasn’t ended, has it?”

  “That would be my greatest desire, sir, but I’m afraid that is not what brought me here.”

  Seeing his old captain again for the first time in years, he knew in his gut the man hadn’t changed. Older now, gray about the beard, with a paunch beginning to show where he had once been as lean as Will himself, there could be no mistaking the man behind the warm hazel eyes.

  Captain Goodman had nothing to do with Amanda’s kidnapping. It occurred to him that he didn’t even have solid proof she had been taken to Goodman’s ship other than the supposition that a common sailor would not use the word “serenity” unless he referred to the ship.

  He needed to broach the subject without impugning the man’s honor. “I seem to have lost something, sir,” Will began, still trying to grasp the right words.

  “Lost something?” Captain Goodman looked confused.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  Will winced. “My wife.”

  He couldn’t tell the man he thought of as a father that he had lost a crewmember—who just happened to be female. It would be akin to admitting he had lost his mistress. Besides, if he ever got Amanda alone again, proposing to her would be his first order of business.

  “Your wife?” Captain Goodman’s laugh held real humor. “You were the last man I ever expected to be able to find a wife, and now that you have, you lost her?”

  A shout from one of the men had both captains turning to see the source of the disturbance.

  Green silk glinting in the sun, Amanda emerged from below deck. She blinked several times in succession, looking a bit confused and rubbing her wrists. Then she glanced about, returning the unflinching stares of several dozen sailors who seemed more surprised to see her than she was to see them.

  Finally, her gaze settled on Will, looking startled for only a moment before she regained her composure and came to join him. “Hello, Will. Did you come to rescue me?” Aside from her raspy voice and unusual question, she sounded as though they had just met at a local teashop.

  He looked down at her, assessing her condition. Her green satin gown smelled a bit musty, and she had little bits of grain stuck to her sleeves and skirt. Her short curly hair looked charmingly disheveled, and a streak of what appeared to be dirt marred one cheek. All in all, she didn’t look as though she had been mistreated, nor did she even look frightened. In fact, she did not look like a woman in need of rescue.

  “I thought I told you to tie her up!” came a rough English-accented voice from among Goodman’s crew.

  “I did!” protested another. “With a proper sailor’s knot, I did!”

  Will looked into the crowd of men around them and spotted two ruffians arguing with each other. So did Captain Goodman.

  The men seemed to sense that all eyes were on them, and they stopped their quarreling. Slowly, they turned to find two of the most ferocious sets of eyes, one gold and the other hazel, peering at them.

  “Take them below and put them in the brig,” Captain Goodman said to an armed Marine sergeant standing nearby.

  He turned back to Will. “They are yours to do with as you please.”

  Will smiled. “Captain Goodman, have the methods of discipline changed much in the Royal Navy since I served aboard your ship?”

  Captain Goodman snorted. “They have not.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Amanda, chin raised, assessing Captain Goodman.

  “I’m sure whatever you do with them would be far worse than anything I could ever dream of,” Will said, focusing his attention on Amanda and wondering what she had planned.

  Goodman turned his attention to his unusual guest, and she gave him a dazzling smile. “So this charming lady is your wife, I take it,” he said as though they were at a ball and not aboard his ship, with small kernels of barley, oats and some unidentifiable debris clinging to Amanda’s gown and hair.

  “Wife?” Her smiled dissolved, and her gaze slid to Will before returning to their host.

  Will frowned down at her. “Yes.”

  “I’m not his wife, sir,” Amanda shook her head, blonde curls bobbing. Several pieces of straw drifted to the deck.

  “You’re not?”

  “She will be,” Will answered for her.

  Goodman looked at him for a moment before turning back to Amanda. “Do you want to be?”

  “Well I suppose I might,” she replied as though considering it for the first time.

  “Then why aren’t you?”

  “Because he hasn’t asked me. A moment ago, it sounded almost like he commanded me, but then I’m no longer a member of his crew.”

  “You were a member of his crew?” Captain Goodman asked incredulously.

  “Yes, but I’m not now, so he can no longer command me, can he?” Amanda’s chin tilted up a little higher.

  Amanda had made him look like a fool at best, and a cad at worst. If only Goodman could hear the full truth of it. He would have asked her last night if she hadn’t been so intent on seducing him. How was he to know that she would disappear before morning?

  However, the blame didn’t rest with her. He should have made his intentions clear before things got out of hand. Still, he didn’t care to discuss his shortcomings with his former captain, especially not with an audience of English seamen who, at any other moment, would be happy to slit his throat. They had dra
wn nearer to the trio standing amidships, circling around them until they closed in on all sides. Like it or not, he had become the morning’s entertainment.

  “Why aren’t you a member of his crew now?” Captain Goodman seemed determined to get to the bottom of this unusual situation.

  “Because I am a woman.” Amanda’s tone implied her response said it all.

  A few of the English sailors nodded.

  “And you weren’t before?” Captain Goodman asked, his lips twisted into a knot.

  “No.” She paused. “Well, yes, I was. But Will, I mean Captain Stoakes, didn’t know that.”

  “I see.” Goodman laughed as it all became clear to him. “So you broke the captain’s rule and became a member of his crew?”

  “And a damn good one!” Amanda added.

  Captain Goodman chuckled softly at Amanda’s coarse language while Will cringed. The sailors around them, however, all seemed to appreciate it, and her, immensely. They slapped each other on the back, laughing and admiring their guest.

  “So, now that you aren’t a member of the crew, you are free to marry him, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose I am.” She didn’t sound too certain.

  “And all he has to do is ask?”

  She hesitated and a look of panic flashed in her eyes before her gaze dropped to deck. “Yes,” she said in a voice so low Will had to strain to hear.

  “Well, Will?” Goodman regarded Will, a smile on his face but his expectations clear.

  If Goodman thought to trap him into doing the right thing, he would have the last laugh. Will stuck his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved the necklace he intended to give her the night before. He held it in his fist so no one could see it, then he turned to Amanda and took her hand in his.

  “Amanda Blakely, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said in a whisper. Her panic dissolved in a pool of misty, unshed tears that made her eyes sparkle like the gems he clutched in his hand.