Veil of Pearls

by Marylu Tyndall

  Why she believed Hadley’s word over his, Morgan could not fathom. He’d never been unfaithful to Adalia, never even glanced at another woman since he’d met her. A blast of wind tugged his hair from its queue and jarred memories loose along with it. Memories of how he’d been disloyal to nearly every woman he’d courted. How he’d been unwilling to restrict himself to just one of the lovely ripe fruits of Charleston society, but instead had partaken of the entire bowl at once, leaving a crop of spoiled half-nibbled produce behind.

  Shame weakened his knees, and he nearly toppled over as the Seawolf climbed a rising swell. He’d well earned—and deserved—his reputation around town. A debased reputation that surely had made its way to Adalia’s ears. And though he had not betrayed her, he was reaping nothing but the seeds he had sown.

  Yet, he wasn’t the cad he used to be. Was he? Not since he’d met Adalia. Hope still flamed in his heart that she would believe that—believe in him. It had been two days since the captain took ill. Two days since Morgan had explained everything to Adalia, since he thought he’d seen a weakening in her eyes before they’d been interrupted. Then why was she avoiding him? Though she had been busy attending the captain, he’d seen her on deck more than once, but every time he’d approached her, she scurried away. Why, she barely even looked his way on his many trips below to check on the captain’s health.

  He shouldn’t have brought her here. He had no right to take her from her home. Blast it all, he was a swaggering oaf! He’d been so confident in her affections, so sure that once he’d spoken to her, she would fall into his arms with complete and utter glee and agree to their courtship, that the alternative hadn’t even occurred to him.

  Pushing from the railing, Morgan growled and fisted his hands on his waist, wishing he could shove one across Hadley’s jaw. Dash it! What was his brother thinking, telling Adalia such lies? This went far beyond a childhood prank. It was unforgivable. And Morgan intended to set things straight when he returned. But for now, all he wanted was for Adalia to believe him—to look at him with those deep, adoring eyes once again.

  A sail snapped above, reminding him of her sharp tongue—a tongue sharp enough to lash a man into submission. He chuckled. She had pluck, he’d give her that. He pictured her sashaying about her cabin in that lilac gown that clung to her in all the right places, her raven hair tumbling down her back in wild abandon, one hand pointed at him in accusation, while the other pressed her nauseous stomach. He grinned. It had taken all his control not to take her into his arms. Well, that, and the fact that he didn’t particularly relish being clawed to death. He would wait until the wildcat becalmed and began to purr again. If she ever did.

  The brig slid into a trough, and his hopes plummeted with it. He could think of only one reason she avoided him. The reason he dreaded the most. That she didn’t love him—that it was over between them forever.

  “Land away!” came the shout from above. Morgan plucked the telescope from his belt and raised it to his eye.

  A ribbon of land rose to float atop the horizon. The American coastline. They’d be in Wilmington before noon. He’d better get below and see if the captain would be well enough to direct the ship into the harbor and see to the off-loading of the goods. If not, Morgan felt confident he could handle things. At least that would give him a chance to see Adalia.

  Leaping down the companionway, he headed aft toward the captain’s cabin. At his quiet knock, the door creaked open to reveal her beautiful face. Instead of fading to a frown, her gentle smile remained as she allowed him entrance.

  “How is he?” he asked, glancing at the bed, where Captain Bristo appeared to be fast asleep.

  Mrs. Wallace glanced up from a chair beside the bed where she was whittling a piece of wood.

  Before Adalia could answer, the captain’s cracked voice filled the room. “I’m quite all right, Morgan. No need to whisper.”

  Adalia approached the bed, gazing at the captain with concern. She had attempted to pin up her unruly curls, but they escaped here and there, spilling onto her shoulder. A sheen of perspiration lined her forehead and neck, and exhaustion weakened the spark in her eyes. But still, she was the most beautiful thing Morgan had ever seen.

  “I just wish I had my medicines here,” she said.

  Captain Bristo lifted a hand then dropped it to the mattress as if it weighed a ton. “It is nothing. Just a slight fever. If you weren’t here, Morgan, I’d be up on deck commanding the ship.”

  “From your back, no doubt,” Mrs. Wallace added with a wink.

  “Good to hear, Captain,” Morgan said. “I’ve come to report that we will be in Wilmington by noon.”

  The captain pried his eyelids half open, though even that small action seemed to pain him. “Ah, good. I shall be up in a few hours.”

  “You will do no such thing, Captain,” Adalia retorted. Picking up a pitcher, she poured water into a glass. “You are far too weak, and your fever might return.”

  Mrs. Wallace glanced down at the pile of wood shavings at her feet. “If you’d eat something, you might recover sooner.”

  Adalia lifted the cup to Captain Bristo’s lips. He gulped the fluid then turned his ashen face toward Morgan. “This is why women should not be allowed on board ships. If I’d wanted a nursemaid, I would have remained at home with my mother.” His laughter turned into coughing, giving Morgan pause.

  “Rest, Captain,” Morgan ordered. “I can take care of things above.”

  The captain’s eyelids fluttered then sank shut. “Perhaps you’re right. Take the helm, then. I trust you.”

  I trust you. The words fell sweet upon Morgan’s ears, especially after his recent betrayal. But then Captain Bristo had always been quick to forgive and slow to judge. One of the many things Morgan admired about him.

  The captain’s deep breathing soon filled the cabin. While Mrs. Wallace continued her whittling, Morgan dared a glance in Adalia’s direction. She’d been staring at him, but now she shifted her gaze away.

  “Will he be all right?” he asked, longing to bring her eyes back to his.

  She nodded. “If he rests, yes. In fact, he is much improved over yesterday.”

  “Good.” Morgan hesitated, listening to the soothing creak and groan of the timbers. “May I speak with you in the hallway, Adalia?”

  She bit her lip and glanced at Mrs. Wallace, but still she would not meet his gaze. “I’m needed here, Morgan.”

  Mrs. Wallace bounced a glance between them, seemed ready to say something, but then thought better of it and continued her work.

  Morgan’s heart felt as though a cannonball had been strapped to it. It was over between them. He knew it. She simply didn’t have the heart to tell him.

  Adalia emerged onto the main deck, bracing herself against the thrust of the wind. She’d attempted to pin up her hair with some of Mrs. Wallace’s pins, but she could see now the effort had been in vain as strands whipped around her face. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she spotted a line of sandy shore and sparse trees off the bow and a gaping mouth of water that must be the entrance to the river leading to Wilmington Harbor. The fresh air stole the odor of sickness that seemed to cling to her even as it filled her lungs with the salty smell of life. She pressed a hand to her belly. Either the ginger was working or she’d gotten used to the constant movement of the ship. At least she had one thing to be thankful for.

  In truth, she had many.

  Morgan’s voice bellowed from above, and she slunk to her usual spot in the shadows beside the quarterdeck. From there, she’d been able to watch Morgan command the ship these past few days without him knowing. At least until he’d noticed some of the sailors gawking in her direction.

  Yet, for two days, the confusion spinning in her mind and heart forbade her to speak to the man who was the cause of her turmoil. She’d needed time to think things through away from his charm, away from the way he made her feel. So, she’d spent the past two days pondering his words, sorting through the maze of
thoughts, feelings, lies, memories, even the man’s rakish reputation, only to realize that the man she’d fallen in love with could never do the things Hadley claimed. Now, as his commanding voice swirled about her, she found the pain in her heart had disappeared. Mended and healed.

  She longed to tell him so, but now was not the time. He had a ship to navigate into Wilmington and duties to attend. She would wait and content herself with hearing his voice, watching him command the ship as if he’d been born on deck—born to be a captain. Born to be at sea. His authoritative yet kind tone sent the sailors scurrying to do his bidding. Respect for him and his leadership shone in their eyes. Even now as he directed the helmsman and called for topmen to furl tops and courses, there was a lift to his voice, a purpose and hope she’d never heard in his tone before.

  As men scrambled aloft and lowered sails, the mad dash of the sea against the hull softened to a purl as the ship slowed and entered the mouth of Cape Fear. Adalia should go below and check on the captain, yet she found herself captivated by the way Morgan navigated the islands and shoals. Where had he acquired such skill? It seemed as though he’d been sailing for years. But how could that be?

  Two hours later, Adalia moved to the larboard railing and leaned over to get a good view of the city. Buildings sprang from the wilderness like wolf pups from a den. People and horses hustled to and fro beyond docks that thrummed with workers.

  A rather crusty-looking sailor stopped before her. He tipped his hat and glanced down at something. “Beggin’ yer pardon, miss.”

  Adalia moved out of the way, and the man grabbed a line attached to a belaying pin. Choosing a position farther up the railing, she turned to look up at Morgan and found him staring at her with such longing in his eyes that emotion cluttered in her throat.

  He swept a determined glance over the ship and spit a trail of rapid-fire orders, “Leadlines readied in the fore! Remove shot from saluting cannon! Guns squared and braced. All hands, bring ship to anchor!”

  The men skittered to their tasks.

  Boom! The fire of the saluting cannon caused Adalia to jump, though she’d seen the men hovering around it with the slow match. The fort at Wilmington replied, and soon the ship slid to a near halt in the harbor, and the anchor plunged into the sea. Adalia watched as the cargo was hefted from the main hatch by a crane rigged to one of the yards and then loaded into the boats. Morgan never hesitated in his command. Even when the crane jammed and they nearly lost a crate in the bay, he remained calm, in control, and decisive.

  When he left on the final boat to settle accounts with the dock master and merchants, Adalia went below to check on the captain. She found him sleeping soundly.

  “And he even ate some stew,” Mrs. Wallace announced proudly. “Now you go on and get some rest, dearest. No need in both of us sitting here.”

  After thanking Mrs. Wallace, Adalia happily returned to her cabin, washed as best she could with some leftover water in her basin, and laid down on her cot. Within moments she was asleep.

  A loud creak jarred her awake. She rubbed her eyes and tried to shake the fog from her head. Only then did she see that moonlight, not sunlight, filtered through the cabin. How long had she slept? Rising, she ambled to the window and peered out. A full moon trickled glittering silver over cobalt waters—not the waters of a bay but the waters of the open sea. They had left Wilmington, already?

  After abandoning her hopeless efforts to press the wrinkles from her gown, Adalia made her way to the captain’s cabin but found both Mrs. Wallace and Captain Bristo fast asleep, the former slumped in her chair, chunk of wood and knife still in her hands, and the latter snoring in his bed. After gently removing the knife from Mrs. Wallace’s hand, lest she hurt herself, Adalia glanced at the clock hanging on the captain’s wall. Five in the morning. Five! She’d slept for over twelve hours. Right through the raising of the anchor, the hoisting of sails, and the trip back down the river to the sea. She couldn’t remember sleeping that soundly in a long while.

  Adalia tiptoed out of the cabin and ventured on deck. Most of the crew would be asleep. Perhaps she’d have a chance to pray—something she hadn’t done in quite some time. What she hadn’t expected was to find Morgan awake. Yet, there he stood on the foredeck, a sinewy shadow against an oversized moon. She knew it was him by the confidence in his stance and the way the light streaked his hair in pearly bands. Excitement gripped her. Followed by apprehension.

  She clutched her skirts, ascended the ladder, and slid beside him. He turned nonchalantly to see who it was then flinched in surprise. Before alarm tightened his features. “Is the captain all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. He instantly calmed and she added, “He’s still sleeping.” Adalia gripped the railing and gazed over the inky sea. So peaceful, so calm, yet with a slight crackle in anticipation of dawn. Much like the anticipation now causing her heart to leap. Leaning on the railing, Morgan faced the sea, his jaw chiseled stone. Had she waited too long? Been too stubborn? Damaged this man’s pride too much?

  Either way, she might as well get to the point and be done with it. “Morgan, I came to tell you that I believe you.”

  He slowly turned to face her, a quizzical look furrowing his brow. The moonlight accentuated the shadows beneath his eyes, deepening her guilt. Still he said nothing.

  Adalia lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t understand why Hadley would lie.” She wrung her hands together. “I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you. It didn’t help that I hadn’t heard from you in so long and that—”

  His lips were on hers. Firm and warm and moist. Caressing. He cupped her face in his hands and deepened the kiss. A knot of warmth swirled in Adalia’s belly. Her toes tingled, and she fell against him, returning his kiss with equal passion. His hand slid behind her neck as he drank her in, tasting her lips, her mouth, as if he’d been starved for far too long. Time suspended. Time and the world around her, for she could no longer hear the waves against the hull, the flap of sails, the creak of the ship. All she could hear was the thunderous beat of her own heart.

  Reluctantly, Morgan withdrew from the kiss lest he gave in to every impulse within him. He caught his breath then swallowed her up in his arms. Laying his chin atop her head, he felt tension drain from him as laughter rose to his lips. He’d nearly resolved himself to life without her. It was why he hadn’t been able to sleep. Why he’d been pacing the deck all night trying to come to grips with his fate. Even now, he didn’t want to let her go. Never wanted to let her go.

  Nudging her back, he peered down at her. “I sent letters nearly every day telling you I was still at the plantation.”

  Adalia’s eyes flitted between his. “I never got them.”

  Morgan raked his hair back and huffed. “I’m afraid the good doctor wanted to keep us apart more than you realize.”

  “I know he doesn’t care for you, but—”

  “Loathes me is more like it.”

  “Well, perhaps.” Her smile lit the night.

  Morgan raised a brow. He wouldn’t tell her the man had slammed the door in his face more than once. In fact, Morgan cared not a whit about the doctor at the moment. For Adalia was once again in his arms, and life was suddenly worth living. As if in celebration, pink, orange, and gold christened the horizon.

  “So you agree to my courtship?”

  She hesitated, bit her lip, and gazed out to sea. Fear—or was it sorrow?—spiked across her eyes.

  Morgan’s heart wavered precariously on the edge of a cliff. One “no” from her would send it crashing into the abyss.

  Finally, she faced him. “I would be honored.” She reached up and brushed her fingers over his stubbled jaw, sending a new wave of desire through him. Amazing how one touch from this woman could affect him so.

  “But how did you convince your father?” she asked.

  “I told him I’d run the plantation in Hadley’s stead.”

  She frowned. “But Mor—”

  He laid a finge
r on her lips. “Not now.” He didn’t want to discuss it now. He didn’t want anything or anyone to dampen this moment. He caressed one of her curls and longed to run his fingers through the rest. Cupping her face again, he gazed into her eyes. “I love you, Adalia.”

  A tear slid down her cheek—a liquid diamond over satin. She smiled. “I love you too, Morgan.”