The woman shrugged and pulled out some brown paper which she wrapped the bolt of fabric in then she pulled out some spools of blue thread and two needles which she added to the package. Holding out her hand again Brant dumped the money in her hand and took the package. Handing it over to Catherine, he smiled. “There you are. Something to keep you occupied for a few days.”
“Really, it is too much.”
“Nonsense! You deserve the best.”
“I will pay you back once we reach England.”
“You will do no such thing,” he said firmly. “This is a gift.”
Catherine gave up and nodded. “Thank you, Brant.”
“See, that’s all I wanted to hear. You’re most welcome, Catherine. Now come along, there is still much to see.”
* * *
They stayed in Casablanca for a week, allowing the crew of the BlackFox a short leave while Brant looked after supplying the ship. On the morning they were to leave the crew was busy loading supplies that had been delivered the night before. Catherine climbed up to the crow’s nest again where she was out of the way and could watch the departure. She had become comfortable with climbing up there and found herself enjoying the view more than she had the first time. She could see the expanse of the entire city; there were houses everywhere and people milling about the streets. It was a truly amazing city that Catherine was sure she never would have been able to experience under normal circumstances. She was almost sad to leave but casting off meant that they were bringing her home and she desperately missed it. By now some kind of report had probably made it back to her parents that her ship had been attacked. Would they think she was dead or would they be holding on to hope that she had found rescue?
As the BlackFox cast off around mid-morning, Catherine stood up, holding the mast tightly for support she watched the city slowly disappear on the horizon. Her journey was nearly done now, only the last leg left. She stayed up there until Casablanca was out of sight and then climbed down to look in on Matthew, whom she hadn’t seen much of in the last week. As her feet touched the deck she heard her name being called. Looking in the direction of the hold she saw Matthew standing there, smiling broadly. “Catherine, look! The doc said I could get up now.”
Catherine walked over and hugged him. “That’s wonderful! But you still have to be gentle. No running around or hard work, your wound is still tender.”
“I’m just happy to be out of that stuffy room. The doc said we were in Casablanca but he wouldn’t let me get out of bed and see. Was it amazing?”
Catherine laughed. “It was. Come, walk with me. A little exercise will do you good.”
Matthew walked with Catherine and she told him all about the sights she had seen in the colorful city. He listened, wide eyed and excited, exclaiming over some of the stories. After an hour of walking Catherine made Matthew sit down and rest. He insisted he was still feeling well but he had grown pale and Catherine could tell he was fatigued. He wasn’t ready to exert himself so much, not after being so close to death. Sending him off to his bed for a rest, she shushed all his attempts at protest and closed the door behind her. Walking back on deck she was greeted by Brant standing there with his hands crossed.
“Well, aren’t you the mother hen.”
Catherine laughed. “The boy needs looking after. You men just never know when to stop.”
Brant nodded his assent and offered her his arm. “Come, have lunch with me.”
“Lunch?” Catherine had learned quickly that there was no formal lunch and after a week of starving she had made her way to the galley to beg food from the cook.
“Yes, lunch. We have a boatload of fresh fruit, vegetables, and meat, the unsalted kind, which need eating before it all goes bad.”
“Real meat?”
Brant laughed. “Yes ma’am. But not much, so we had best go eat some for lunch now before it’s all gone.”
Catherine’s stomach grumbled slightly and she laughed. “Lead the way. I think my stomach is about to eat itself.”
“We can’t have that, now can we?”
Brant led her down to the galley where most of the crew had gathered. He seated her at a table with James, Casper and a few of the younger sailors.
She turned to Brant and whispered “What is all this about? We’re eating with the crew?” Catherine thought that she was doing well, treating the men with respect and kindness, but this was too much. She wasn’t sure she could eat with these men, the crude joking and interesting mixture of smells meeting her nose.
Brant gave her a disappointed look. “Yes, we’re eating with the crew. It’s something I do with the men when we leave a port and have fresh stock. They all get to eat the fresh food and the officers and I join them.”
Determined not to disappoint Brant, she smiled graciously and didn’t protest. She made an effort to speak with the men as best she could, but their raucous laughter and crude conversations left her mostly appalled and uncomfortable. However, she spoke no word of complaint and hoped that she wouldn’t have to endure such a meal again, nor would she ever admit to having this one. Brant had pushed her too far, but it would have to wait until later to be dealt with.
* * *
Later that night Brant climbed up to the crow’s nest. It didn’t take long for Catherine to appear, climbing onto the platform and sitting next to him.
“I need to talk to you.”
Brant nodded, as if he had been expecting this conversation.
“This afternoon, at lunch, I found it to be a very uncomfortable situation. I’m not trying to be pretentious or snobbish, but the men in the crew can be very crude and a lot of conversation during lunch was offensive and embarrassing for me. I have nothing against the crew, I just found it inappropriate that I would join them for lunch in the galley.”
Brant nodded slightly and put his arm around her. “I understand. I shouldn’t have pushed you. You’ve had to overcome a lot and you’ve grown as a person. I don’t think you’re being pretentious; the galley is no place for a woman of any standing and I should have realized that.”
They sat in silence for a time and Catherine rested her head on Brant’s strong shoulder. “Can I hear your story now?”
Brant chuckled, “Is that what you what?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Alright. I was born to Sir Calvin and Suzanne Foxton, you may recognize the name…”
Brant told her of how his mother died, how he left home to follow his dreams of being a captain and stumbled into the situation of joining a privateering ship. How he had found it immoral and hard to swallow at first. He told her of the years of training in swordsmanship and the tests LaFleur had him perform. He told her of the mutiny and LaFleur’s death, and his ultimate rise to captaincy. Then, the death of his father, Calvin Foxton and the guardianship of James. There was a lot to tell and they were sitting up in the crow’s nest for two hours as Brant narrated his life so far. Catherine listened in wonder as she tried to fathom him leaving a life where everything was set for an unsure future.
“I never knew,” she whispered softly as his story drew to a close. “You’ve been through so much and made a lot of hard decisions. I have to admit, I admire you for what you have done.”
“You can admire a murderer and criminal?”
“Not that, but you as a person I can. I could never leave my life for something like this.”
“My father still ensured that my future was secure before he died. I own his sugar plantation in Jamaica.”
“Yes, but you had no idea you’d be receiving that. You left thinking that you would be on your own from that point on and likely never to see your family again. It’s admirable. Foolhardy, but admirable.”
Brant laughed and squeezed Catherine closer to his side. It was probably inappropriate, how close they would sit when they were up here, but there was no one to witness and neither seemed to care.
“You are an amazing woman, Catherine. I don’t want you to ever forget that.”
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“Thank you.”
Brant kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair gently as her head rested on his shoulder. A few moments later he felt the steady breathing of sleep take over her and he smiled. He would be unable to carry her down and he couldn’t find it in his heart to wake her so he put both arms around her and settled in for a long night.
Chapter Twelve
Brant was woken up by a bright, warm light shining down on him. It took a minute to remember where he was, but as he opened his eyes and the morning breeze caressed his senses back to life, he remembered the night before. He was high above the deck of the ship in the crow’s nest with a very beautiful woman sleeping in his arms. Smiling, Brant gently shook her awake. Catherine groaned and opened her eyes a little.
“Where are we?”
“I’m afraid we spent the night in the crow’s nest.”
“What?” Catherine sleepily looked around a sighed. “I fell asleep didn’t I? Why didn’t you wake me?”
Brant chuckled. “I didn’t want to disturb you. Don’t worry about it; this is the best I’ve slept in a while.”
And, as if on cue, Brant’s stomach rumbled. “But, I need breakfast. Come on, let’s go down and get some food in you.”
Catherine stretched a little and climbed down behind Brant. It was still early, the sun having woken them at the break of dawn, and most of the crew were still in their bunks. Only a small skeleton crew of men wandered the deck going about the small daily jobs that were needed to keep the ship sailing smoothly. Brant said good morning to most as he walked by and led Catherine to her cabin. “You freshen up. I will go rustle up some breakfast and bring it here.”
In the kitchen Brant found some fresh baked bread and fried up some meat and eggs. With breakfast ready to go he filled up two plates and took them back to Catherine’s cabin.
“Here we are, fresh served off the grill.” He handed her a plate and she took the chair at his desk while Brant sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.
Catherine took a few bites and nodded her approval. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Not very well. As a cabin boy I was on breakfast duty for a while with the cook. Most of the time we just made mush he called porridge but every once in a while we would have fresh eggs.”
“I’m very impressed. I couldn’t do this.”
Brant laughed. “That’s because you have maids to do it for you.”
Catherine nodded her assent and continued to eat the meal. After finishing she turned to face Brant, a frown marring her face.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just… strange.”
“What is?”
“This relationship we have. I’m normally a very reserved person but you make me… not reserved.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I liked the old me. It worked well.”
“And how is this working for you?”
“It’s different. Not good or bad, just different.”
“I see.” Brant got up from the floor and walked over to her, cupping her face in his hands. He studied her face and her wide, innocent eyes and found himself enraptured. She was a famed siren of the sea, there was no other explanation for the strange and unexplainable allure she had. “I think you are a beautiful and intelligent woman who needs to let that shine, Catherine. You hide too much.”
Her eyes were locked on his and he couldn’t look away. She said nothing and he was at a loss for words. All he could think about was how beautiful and perfect she was—and how untouchable. He was beneath her; he knew that even though he had spent the last month and a half telling her that class meant nothing. So why was he so afraid to do what he was longing to do?
“Forgive me, Catherine,” he whispered as he captured her lips with his.
He felt her sharp intake of breath as she gasped but his lips held hers firmly and refused to let her retreat. She tried to lean away but the high back of the chair only allowed her to go back so far and Brant had her pinned firmly against it. She tried to push him away but she didn’t have the strength and Brant would not relent. Then he felt her responding. He felt her lips return the embrace and they moved with his just as desperate and hungry as he was. Shocked he pulled back but she grabbed him and wouldn’t let him leave.
Brant didn’t need any more encouragement. He kissed her again, allowing the electric shock to travel through his entire body. He could tell that Catherine felt it too as she shivered.
When he pulled back this time, she didn’t stop him. He searched her face for some kind of indication of how she felt, but she just stared back with big scared eyes and tears streaming down her face.
“What is it?” he asked in concern, reaching out to brush away the salty tears that made tracks down her face.
She brushed him aside and stood up, walking towards the window and turning her back on him.
“Catherine, I’m sorry.”
“Please leave.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Leave, Brant!”
Brant swallowed back his shock and left the cabin. He should never have forced her, never should have taken that next step in their relationship. It wasn’t his place and it was deeply inappropriate. She was his passenger; he had rescued her, and was charged with caring for her safety. He shouldn’t be putting her in compromising situations. It wasn’t as if anything would come of his actions anyway. They were from two different worlds and those worlds were not meant to mix. All he’d accomplished was complicating things for the last couple of weeks they would have together.
He spent the day working hard, doing small jobs that should have been done by a crew member, anything to keep him busy and not thinking about Catherine. He contemplated eating dinner with the crew instead of with the officers but decided not to make it look too much like he was avoiding her, so he made an appearance. He had nothing to worry about anyway, Catherine was absent—taking dinner in her cabin.
Sleep was nearly impossible. All he could think about was Catherine and kissing her, kissing those wondrously soft lips and having her respond. He was infatuated and it was interfering with life. It would have been better if he had never taken that step at all. And for the first time, he found himself wishing they had stayed enemies.
* * *
Brant didn't talk to Catherine again until they were nearing the end of their voyage. She had emerged from her cabin the day after the incident, her pride wrapped around her like armor but she needn’t have worried. Brant wasn’t about to bother her. He didn't really know why he was doing it but he felt as if, for his own safety, he had to shut her out or he would be lost at sea. Although, he was beginning to think it was already too late for that. He had entered uncharted waters awhile ago and now there was no turning back.
He could tell that Karl was concerned about how he was acting but Brant didn’t really care. He had to get away from Catherine. He had to blindfold his eyes, plug his ears, and tie himself to a mast before he threw himself on the rocks to die at the sound of her call. But it wasn’t enough. Every time she walked by Brant found himself wanting to be near her. He found himself wanting to talk with her and walk with her and sit with her and he desperately wanted to kiss her again. It was torture. The only way to escape was to lock himself in a cabin, but as captain that wasn’t an option. So he suffered through every torturous moment and wished for the day they docked in London to come quickly.
The worst was dinner, now that Catherine was eating with them again. And even though he carefully avoided conversation with her, he could only deflect her for so long.
“Brant, we have to talk.”
“I’d rather not, Catherine. I made a mistake.”
“I don’t want our friendship to suffer because of it.”
“It already has. I can’t stand to be around you. It takes all my willpower to not kiss you, Catherine. Being around you is torture. Don’t wish that upon me.”
Catherine sighed and
threw up her hands in frustration. “Kiss me then, Brant Foxton! You think I don’t want it just as bad?”
Brant looked at her and when she made no move to retreat or take back what she had said he took her into his arms and kissed her passionately, all ten days of pent up feelings being set free in one simple act.
He held Catherine tightly against him and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Why do you torture me so?” he whispered, kissing her head.
“I’m sorry, Brant. I’m a selfish woman.”
Brant let her go and held her at arm’s length. “Catherine, I can’t stop this. I can’t just wake up tomorrow and decide that I don’t care about you. Are you sure about this?”
“No, I’m not. But I’m willing to see what happens. Aren’t you?”
Brant nodded, kissing her gently in response. “Let me take you to your cabin. It’s late.”
* * *
Brant wanted to spend every minute of every remaining day with her. It was a complete turnaround from the last week and a half. They were getting closer to England, and Catherine’s home, with each passing day and Brant knew his time with her was limited. He didn’t know what he was going to do once they docked, but for now he wanted to make the most of his time with her.
However, work could not fall by the wayside, so he snuck in time with her when he could and juggled between wanting the day to last forever so that it would take longer to reach England and wanting evening to come quickly so he could give Catherine his undivided attention. Every evening they would sit in her cabin or in the crow’s nest, talking and discussing things much like they had before but Brant would hold her close, kiss her gently, and brush her hair behind her ears—all the little gestures that showed his feelings beyond friendship.
But, as good as things were going, the day they were only a week away from England came and it came much too soon. When Casper came up to him and announced that, weather permitting and if the wind remained in their favor, they would be docking in a week he found himself almost upset. He hoped a storm would rise up and drive them off course. He hoped that the wind would disappear completely and leave them floating aimlessly; anything to keep the day of Catherine leaving as far away as possible.
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