“Marianne.” The breathless rush of Jamie’s voice, the arch of his eyebrows, the widening of his intense brown eyes, sent a surge of satisfaction through Marianne. Her surprise was complete. And long overdue. If she had to stay in this stifling room one more hour—
“Captain, would you be so kind as to escort me to the upper deck?” Marianne glanced over her shoulder at the women she had come to regard as sisters in romance, for they had all shared their love stories to keep up their courage while the ship pitched and rolled in the storm. She then looked back at Jamie, whose expression now bordered on horrified—not what she had hoped for. “I have not seen the sun for ten days. Or is it eleven? Down here, it is difficult to know.”
Jamie scowled at her. “What are you doing here?”
His growling tone cut into her. She’d never imagined he would be cross with her.
“Wh-why, I thought—”
“Don’t speak.” Jamie gripped her arm. “Come with me.” He pulled her down the hallway, or whatever these narrow passages were called.
“Ouch.” She tugged against him. “Where are you taking me? Are you not pleased to see me? Jamie!” Her last words came out on a sob.
He opened a door and almost shoved her inside. The room—cabin, she corrected herself—was much larger than the other and nicely furnished with a desk, several chairs, and a bed, or berth, built into the wall.
Marianne settled into a chair, huffing with horrified indignation and trying desperately not to cry. “Well, Captain Templeton, it seems I have made a serious mistake. Obviously, all your gentle protestations of love for me were nothing short of a lie.”
“Don’t,” he growled again. “Do not for one moment think that this is about my love for you.” He ran a hand through his hair, loosening many strands from his queue, a gesture she had heretofore found charming. Now it seemed the gesture of a man enraged. Enraged at her. Papa had never treated Mama thus.
“Jamie.” She spoke softly, as Mama did when trying to soothe Papa’s ruffled feathers. But unlike her mother, Marianne could not stop her tears. “I love you. I—I thought you loved me. Why should we be separated by foolish social strictures?”
Jamie bent forward, his hands gripping the arms of her chair, his nose inches from hers. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “Yes, I love you.” His tone did not confirm his words. “But you don’t belong here, and I can’t return you. We are ten days out, and I can’t afford to lose time.”
She laughed, but it sounded more like a squeak in her ears. “But I do not wish to return.” A bitter thought occurred to her. “If you despise me for following you, then take me to my brother Frederick. How difficult can that be? You are sailing to East Florida anyway.”
Jamie skewered her with a look. “We’re not going directly to East Florida.”
“But…wh-where are we going?” She stared down, clasping her hands as more thoughts collected, revealing a horrifying idea. Quince’s disrespect. Emma’s subtle remarks, disguised as humor, regarding His Majesty. The way the other women aboard the ship avoided certain topics. Marianne lifted her gaze to the man she loved. “Jamie, where are we going?” She was not certain she really wanted to know the answer.
“Boston.” The word exploded from his lips.
“But Boston is occupied by the rebelling colonists and—”
As he lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, she understood at last. Jamie was not the man he claimed to be. He was a rebel, one of those who hoped to drive the British from American shores. But why would he have befriended Papa? What had been his purpose?
Shattering reality struck her heart and mind. He was a spy. And no doubt he had been spying on Papa from the moment he walked into Bennington House last March. Or perhaps it began last year, at the very same time she was falling in love with him.
Indeed, by running away to be with Jamie Templeton, Marianne had made a horrible, irreparable mistake. The realization stole her breath, and she thought she might suffocate. The room became a swirling eddy, pulling her downward. She gasped for air, barely aware of the captain bending over her until he touched her arm.
“Marianne.”
The concern in his voice cut through her struggle, and she pulled in air at last. “No. Do not touch me.” Bitter anguish tore through her, and she burst out in sobs she could not control.
Chapter Twenty-Six
He was a beast. No other word would suit him. And Jamie cringed to see the fear in Marianne’s face as, right before his eyes, she realized she had run from the safety of her father’s house into the custody of her father’s enemy. Yet, after she regained her breath, only to succumb to violent weeping, he clenched his jaw, tightened his arms across his chest and stared out through the porthole to keep from taking her into his arms. Why had she not accepted the fact that they couldn’t be together? Foolish, wonderful girl. To think he’d once doubted the depth of her love.
He’d never before frightened a woman, and it grieved him deeply to cause this particular lady such pain. He was a Christian above all else, dedicated to serving his Lord even before the Patriot cause. That included treating women with respect and honor. He’d let no harm come to Marianne, but he must stay as far away from her as possible on this vessel.
He shouldn’t have told her where they were going. That had revealed everything. Now, if they were accosted by a British vessel, she’d have the tools to give them away. And even if he kept her below deck where she could not alert them, his usefulness to the Glorious Cause had been destroyed forever. He could never return to England, for Bennington would doubtless have him drawn and quartered. Marianne’s actions had put an end to his spying. If he were alone, he would laugh out loud. God had granted his wish not to spy anymore.
How had she come aboard? Who helped her? How had the man on watch at the time failed to see she was not like the other women, despite her plain clothing?
As her sobs subsided, he ventured to look in her direction, steeling himself against the temptation to comfort her. There she sat, dabbing her lovely face with a linen handkerchief, staring unfocused at the bulkhead. Her cheeks had grown puffy, and her eyes still leaked copious tears, but her lips formed a firm line. Before she fully gained her emotional footing, he must uncover her accomplice in her mad scheme.
“Whom did you bribe to help you come aboard? My watchman?” Jamie had been too full of grief his first night on board to recall who’d performed that duty, a sure sign he’d slipped in his ability to rule his own ship. “One of the other women?”
She glared at him with chin lifted. Too late. He saw in her sapphire eyes he was now her enemy, and a familiar raw ache settled in his chest. But he must ferret out the information. Who among his crew could be persuaded to betray him this way? Would they also reveal the store of muskets in the hold if a British naval officer came aboard? At least Marianne didn’t know about that. Or did she?
“Jamie.” Aaron pounded on the door. “Jamie, may I come in?” The urgency in his voice only mildly alarmed Jamie. Aaron was a passenger. If the ship were about to be accosted, Saunders or the second mate would alert him. But Aaron’s interruption might disarm Marianne into revealing her accomplice.
No. Aaron was her accomplice. There could be no other explanation.
Jamie yanked open the door. “You.” Guilt wrote itself across Aaron’s face, and only the grace of God restrained Jamie from slamming his fist into his friend’s jaw. Emma peered around him, her pale blue eyes blinking. “What were you thinking, man?” He shoved past the two of them, suddenly needing to breathe some fresh air.
Ascending to the main deck, he first saw Brody, one of the newly married crewmen, standing at the gunwale. Brody grinned and touched his hat in an informal salute. A growl rumbled in Jamie’s throat, and he strode across the deck and up the steps to the quarterdeck. There Crane, another new groom, stood at the helm. At Jamie’s appearance, he also saluted. “How do, Cap’n?”
Not trusting himsel
f to speak, Jamie ordered him away with a jerk of his thumb and gripped the wheel himself. Crane left, scratching his head, probably wondering over the captain’s ill temper. But suspicion crept into Jamie’s thoughts. Had they all known about Marianne? Clearly, Demetrius had discovered it, although he didn’t seem to know her identity. But what of the others? Had their wives said nothing to them?
“Saunders,” Jamie bellowed into the wind. In seconds, his first mate stood in front of him, calm curiosity in his eyes.
“Aye, sir.” Saunders touched his hat, as Brody had, in an informal salute, which until today had shown sufficient respect to satisfy Jamie. “Is everything all right?”
“No, everything is not all right.” Jamie stared at the distant horizon. “Did you know that we had an extra passenger, a woman, on board?”
Saunders drew back and scratched his bearded chin. “Why, no, sir. Just Mrs. Quince, my Molly, and the other three ladies, our wedded wives.” He tilted his head. “Are ye sayin’ we got a stowaway?”
Jamie narrowed his eyes and glared at him. He’d always trusted this man…until now. Now Jamie didn’t know whom to trust. “So you didn’t know about—” He stopped, realizing his near mistake. If the crew learned of Marianne’s title, he couldn’t predict what their responses might be. “Mr. Quince brought along one of his wife’s friends, though I’ve yet to determine why.” Indeed, Aaron had lumped Marianne’s entire family into one basket, despising them all. Why would he help her run away?
“He did?” Saunders shook his head. “Sorry, Cap’n Jamie. I should’ve been payin’ more attention when he and his bride come aboard that night. Too much confusion with that extra shipment of wool and all, but that’s no excuse.”
Jamie believed him. “Very well.” If Saunders didn’t know about Marianne, few other members of the crew would, either. But how had the other wives kept the secret of their extra companion from their husbands? A fresh wind swept over him, and he inhaled deeply. Then a picture of Marianne came unbidden to his mind. She’d been confined to the cabin below deck for the entire voyage. “The lady might appreciate—”
“Sail, ho,” cried the watchman in the crow’s nest high above the deck. “Flyin’ the Union Jack, Cap’n.”
Handing the wheel to Saunders, Jamie retrieved his telescope from his belt and extended it to view the oncoming vessel. A British forty-gun man-of-war was bearing down on them, flying over the waters like a pelican about to devour a fish.
Taking the helm again, Jamie frowned at Saunders. “Pass the word among the crew. They know what to do. Mind what we’ve practiced.”
“Aye, sir.” Saunders started to leave, but turned back. “And don’t ye be worryin’ about the wives, Jamie. They all know what we’re about.”
His words jolted Jamie. The women knew their husbands were secret revolutionaries, yet they’d kept their own secret about Marianne. Now he truly had no idea of whom to trust.
This had been a bad plan from the beginning, leaving his crew to gad about London for these several months. How could he expect healthy, reputable men not to seek the company of decent ladies? And once they married, how could they keep from revealing their true loyalties to their wives? Yet the ship couldn’t have sailed back to America without repairs, which had taken far too long, leaving plenty of time for mischief and mischance. He should be thankful God had protected them all from something far more dangerous than marriages.
Lord, help us. Keep these English sailors from finding our cargo. His instinctive prayer reminded him God had permitted the storm that damaged the mast, and the hull had been long overdue for a careening, something not available in East Florida. No good thing could have come from sailing without those repairs. A certain peace settled over and within him. God had let all of these things happen. He would see them through.
The only thing Jamie couldn’t reconcile with the Lord was the presence of a certain little aristocrat aboard his ship. And as the man-of-war came alongside, he realized that he’d not sent anyone to imprison her so she couldn’t give them away.
Finding her way back to the ladies’ cabin, Marianne sensed Quince and Emma close behind her. Were they following to support her or to make certain she did nothing wrong? But what harm could she do to anyone aboard this ship? In the cabin, the other four women eyed her with more than a little interest.
“Well?” Molly, the matronly woman somewhere near Mama in age, gave her a merry smile. “Did you get your man settled down?” She threw back her head and laughed. “My, I thought I’d split a seam seein’ the cap’n so put out with you. Tell us, dearie…why, what are these tears?” She raised her arms and Marianne flew into her embrace, weeping against her shoulder for several moments.
“Oh, bother.” Marianne lifted her head and blew her nose on her wet handkerchief. “I thought I had finished crying.”
“Here, now.” Molly handed her a dry cloth. “What’s the matter with the cap’n? Wasn’t he glad to see you?” She propped her hands on her waist in indignation.
Shaking her head, Marianne continued to sniff. What could she say to these dear women? All they knew about her was her first name and that she had fled her disapproving father to follow Jamie. So far, Quince and Emma had kept her identity secret. In fact, Quince treated her far better as plain Marianne than he ever had when she was Lady Marianne. What a strange twist of events. Now these new friends loved her, while the man she loved turned his back on her. While the man she loved turned out to be a traitor to her father and his king.
A familiar crewman—Nancy’s husband—bustled down the passage. “All right, ladies,” Brody said. “This is it. This is what we told you about. Do you all remember what to do?”
“That we do, Mr. Brody.” Molly, who by reason of her age and strong personality had become the ladies’ resident matron, motioned them to come close. She gave Marianne a long look, then turned to Quince. “Sir, does Miss Moberly know what to do?”
Quince wiped a hand across his mouth. “Miss Moberly, may I speak with you for a moment?” He tilted his head toward the companionway.
Marianne’s thoughts scrambled in a thousand different directions. “What’s happened? Are we in danger?” She followed him and Emma to a quiet corner not far from the cabin.
Quince gripped her upper arms gently and seized her gaze with dark, earnest eyes. “Lady Marianne, Mr. Brody’s alert means we’ve been accosted by a British naval vessel.”
She gasped. Had Papa sent someone to save her?
As if reading her thoughts, Quince gripped her more tightly. “You must stay with the ladies in the cabin and not make a sound.” A pinch of fear crossed his face. “You do realize, of course, that if you give us away, we’ll all hang—Jamie included, this very day—and this ship will be commandeered.”
Marianne swayed, but this time not from the ship’s motion. The lives of these traitors were in her hands. Dear Lord, what shall I do?
“I am taking Emma to our cabin. As passengers, we do not expect to be troubled by the British.” Quince shook her gently. “Must we bind and muffle you and lock you in our closet?”
“No.” The word came out without a thought, but in truth, she had no idea what she would do if the British sailors came below and questioned her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jamie had learned from Lamech Folger, his uncle, mentor and East Florida partner, that full and friendly cooperation was the only way to appease these officious British captains. As the uniformed, thirtyish man climbed over the gunwale, Jamie smiled and tipped his broad-brimmed hat. “Welcome aboard, Captain. Jamie Templeton, at your service.”
Flanked by several armed officers and perhaps fifteen sailors, the red-haired man eyed Jamie up and down. “I am Captain Reading of the HMS Pride. I see you are flying the Union Jack and Lord Bennington’s flag.” He glanced toward the top of the mainmast. “However, in these uncertain times, such symbols might be a ploy. You will understand that it is my responsibility to make certain no arms or contraband are aboard y
our vessel.”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Jamie thought the man looked reasonable enough, but one officer behind him wore a sneer, and the sailors, armed with cudgels, glared around the ship. A twinge of nausea struck Jamie, and he prayed their captain would not decide to press members of the Fair Winds’ crew into service. “You will find a large volume of goods in our hold, sir. We sail to East Florida, where my business partner, Lord Bennington, expects to make a tidy profit among the Loyalists who are fleeing all that nonsense in the northern colonies.” Should he offer this man his choice of the goods as a bribe?
The captain’s left eyebrow flickered briefly. “We will search your vessel, sir, with your permission.”
Jamie covered his anger with a coughing chuckle. This treatment was one of the many reasons for the Revolution, this unreasonable searching of ships. “Of course. I would expect nothing less from His Majesty’s navy.” He gave a quick little nod to confirm his words. “This is how you keep us all safe. May I show you around?”
Reading’s eyes narrowed. “No, thank you, sir. My men know what to do.”
Despite his growing rage, Jamie managed another smile. “Very well, sir. I am your servant.”
Reading motioned to his men, and his three officers took several sailors each to search various parts of the ship, including below deck. The captain then glanced around the main deck. “We have lost several of our crew to unfortunate accidents, and require replacements. You may ask for volunteers or select them yourself. If you choose not to cooperate, I will make my own selections.”
Raw fear cut into Jamie’s chest. He would die for any of his men, but who else would die if he resisted this demand? And what of the ladies’ safety? “Sir, I have a letter from Lord Bennington, also signed by Captain Thomas Moberly, of the HMS Dauntless. These should exempt my crew from impressments.” Now he would learn just how powerful his former patron was.
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