by Playing
Chapter Thirteen
After a week at sea, Heather started to lose her enchantment with the ocean. She spent a great deal of time alone, as Drew’s duties took up a chunk of his time. At first, she enjoyed the leisure time. She pored over the two shelves of books above his desk. There were, of course, many ocean-related books, but she was pleasantly surprised to find several works by Homer and Shakespeare. He also owned books written by Washington Irving and James Fennimore Cooper.
His library was quite eclectic, as she discovered when she pulled down a slim volume of John Keats’ poetry. The thin book puzzled her, for he didn’t strike her as the sort to read poetry. Her fingers brushed over the faded red cloth cover and, when she lifted the volume, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor.
She crouched down to pick up the scrap. It was rectangular, a shade smaller than the pages of the book, and yellowed with age. The opposite side bore the unmistakable penmanship of a lady:
My darling Drew,
Although we are apart, hold this close and imagine I am lying there beside you, in your arms, where I truly belong.
B.
The paper was worn and wrinkled, as if thumbed over many times. By Drew, perhaps? Her heart pounded against her ribs as she slipped the paper back into the book to return to the shelf. She didn’t want him to know that she’d found the note, as it obviously meant something to him.
She turned away from the shelves, having lost all interest in reading. That love letter struck a sour note in her heart, reminding her of the woman he obviously still pined for. It left her feeling strangely odd — almost as if she’d been betrayed.
“Which is impossible. He’s made no promises to me, hasn’t spoken of any feelings for me. Nothing of the sort. All he’s said is that he wishes to keep me as his mistress even when we arrive in Brunswick.”
But, for how long? The question pricked her brain on more than one occasion. She had no way of knowing how long Drew’s interest in her would last. What would become of her when that interest waned?
Heather plunked down in the desk chair. This was not the first time she’d wondered this, but it was the first time fear flickered in the pit of her belly. What would become of her once Drew moved on? She would be alone, in a strange country, with no money and no way to support herself. Unless —
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I will not go back to a place such as Coal’s. Not ever.”
But, would she be able to remain in Brunswick? If she found she liked the town and wanted to stay, would she be able to do so, knowing she would most likely run into him at some point? She tried to imagine bumping into him on a walkway, seeing him with a new love and remembering the nights she’d spent in his arms. Just the thought stung. How would the reality be? She squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the unwelcome images.
Still, those thoughts plagued her over the next few days. By the end of that first week, she was ready to go out of her mind. She certainly couldn’t ask Drew. Besides, she wasn’t certain she wanted to hear the truth or what she thought the truth would be.
She tried to keep busy, but there was only so much she could do. For two days she tidied and rearranged the cabin, only to have him ranting and raving when he couldn’t find an inventory sheet he needed and she couldn’t remember where she’d moved it.
“I need something to do, Drew,” she complained from the far corner of the cabin, where she was far enough out of reach as he tore through the items on his desk, muttering oaths beneath his breath.
“If you are so bored, Heather, I’ll find something for you to do. But please, I beg you — do not clean for me again! Have we a deal?”
His eyes blazed with fury, but she was irritated enough herself to shout back, “I was trying to help!”
“Which I appreciate. But please, for the love of God, do not help me again.”
She glared, but nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” He yanked a sheaf of papers from a pile on the desk, thundering, “Damn it!” as the rest of the stack teetered precariously, then spilled over the desktop and to the floor.
“Please, let me help you — ”
He crouched to swipe them up and try to rearrange them, growling, “Thank you, but you’ve helped me quite enough for one day!”
“I’m sorry.” This was the first time she’d felt the sting of his temper and she was at a loss as to how to respond. Part of her wanted to continue shouting right back at him, but the other part thought it best to not push him further. After all, he’d thrown Henry across the deck with almost no effort. She would definitely be no match for a man of his size and obvious strength. No match at all.
He seemed to be struggling to control his temper, then his shoulders loosened, the fury fading from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Heather.” He brought his hands down to rest on his hips. “I know you were only trying to help me out and I do appreciate it. It’s simply that I have a method to my madness and now my madness is all jumbled up.”
Pushing away from the wall, she took a step toward him. “I should never have touched any of those papers. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“I know. I apologize for being such an ogre.” He dropped into his desk chair, leaning his head back to stare up at the exposed ceiling beams. “Come here.”
She hesitated, not at all certain she should get anywhere within arm’s reach of him as his eyes still glinted with danger. But it was probably best not to send him into another fury again, so she closed the space between them.
He reached for her hand, drawing her down onto his lap. “I’m sorry, love.” he spoke softly, his fingers stroking over the plait hanging halfway down her back. “I need to work on reeling in my temper, I’m afraid. It’s been a busy week and I’m beyond exhausted.”
She sat stiffly. Heather wanted to coil her arms about his neck, but didn’t think it would be proper. He solved her dilemma for her, pulling her arms to drape over his shoulders.
“You do not ever have to be afraid of me, love. I would never raise a hand to you in anger.” He continued to speak softly, pressing his fingertips into her back in small circles. “Not ever.”
She could see the sincerity in his eyes and knew he was telling the truth. “I won’t help you again, Drew. You have my word.”
He cupped her chin in one hand. “I can’t promise I won’t yell again,” he replied with a devilish grin. “But, I can promise you will like my apologies.”
She didn’t resist as he drew her in for a soft kiss. A ripple of heat coursed through her as his lips parted and his tongue delved down capture hers. They hadn’t made love since that first night — she was fast asleep by the time Drew returned to the cabin most nights and he was gone before she awoke. Perhaps that was about to change?
He slid his arms about her waist, shifting her to face him so her legs dangled over either side of his thighs. He tugged her closer, pulled her into direct contact with him, and the motion sent a ribbon of desire twisting through her.
He trailed his lips down the side of her neck and into her décolletage. His fingers went to work on the back of her gown, parted it, then drew over her shoulders. With his teeth, he tugged at the ribbon on her chemise, nudging the linen aside with one hand to bare her left breast.
A cool breeze danced across her skin and her eyes closed as his tongue swirled about her nipple. The caress was so heavenly, she forgot where she was, forgot about the completely unladylike position she was in. The slight flicker of embarrassment she originally felt when he parted her chemise was gone. The flames of desire he stoked deep within her swallowed it whole.
“Captain McKenzie?”
Heather squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. No. Not now.
Frustration stabbed through her. Who the devil was that and why didn’t he just go away?
“Captain McKenzie? It’s Jeremy. I need to speak with you at once, sir. It’s of utmost importance.”
“Son of a…I’m sorry, love.” Drew leaned away from her to call, “I’ll b
e right there.”
Hot disappointment replaced frustration, but she nodded. “You have a thankless job, being the captain.”
“You can say that again.” He kissed her ear and squeezed her gently. “The last thing I wish is to move from your warmth, Heather.”
“Still, your crew needs you as well.” She couldn’t keep the wistfulness from her voice.
“I suppose they do. And I suppose I ought heed that, instead of lazing about here with you.”
She heard the teasing in his voice, and couldn’t help but laugh. She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “I am a distraction, aren’t I?”
“The best kind, love.” His lips brushed her cheek. “The best kind.”
With that, he tugged her chemise closed, pulled her gown back into place, his fingers lingering over her skin. With a husky sigh, he set her on her feet, then rose from the chair. “I’ll be back, and I will have something for you to occupy yourself with.”
She smoothed the last of the wrinkles from her skirts. “Of course.”
At the door he paused, a hand on the knob. “When I return, I am whisking you back to that bed and I’ll not be leaving until the sun rises tomorrow.”
That eased her disappointment. “Very well. I will try to stay awake.”
He winked. “Sleep if you need to. I’ve no qualms about waking you.” Another wink. “And you won’t mind if I do, either. I promise you that.”
A shocked reply rose to her lips, but before she could speak, Jeremy pounded on the door again. “Captain? You comin’?”
Drew strode to the door to yank it open. “What is it, Mr. Allen?”
“Henry, Captain. He is refusing to eat.”
Drew sighed. “Why did I think this would be a hassle-free voyage?”
The mention of Henry’s name prickled along her spine. She looked toward the doorway. Drew filled it, his back stiff as he pulled his fingers through his hair. “Very well. What does Mr. Mason have to say?”
Drew stepped into the corridor, but left the door open, and Heather couldn’t resist eavesdropping. She moved closer. The book she’d settled on reading lay face down behind one of the stacks of papers, so she plucked it up. Just in case.
“He said to let him starve.” Jeremy’s voice was mild, unconcerned. “He’ll eat when he gets hungry and there is no way to force him to do so.”
A low thump as one of them leaned against wall, and Drew said, “Then that’s what we’ll do. Is he giving you any other trouble?”
“Other than swearing revenge, no. I don’t think you have to worry, Captain. He has no way to get out of those chains. They’ve been kept well-oiled and rust-free.”
“Good. We certainly don’t need any more trouble.”
“No, sir. Although, Scottie did mention that it looks as though a storm is moving in. The skies have gotten gray.”
Heather winced. A storm? She didn’t like storms on land. What was a storm at sea like?
As if he heard her thoughts, Drew poked his head back into the cabin. “Heather?”
She lowered the book. “Yes?”
“I need to go topside. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be fine.” She held up the book. “I’ve this to keep my mind off the weather.”
“You have nothing to worry about.” He grinned. “I’ve yet to hit any storm I can’t handle.”
With that, and a wink, Drew disappeared down the passageway, leaving her to smile and lose herself in the book for real.
Chapter Fourteen
The storm hit that night, much to Heather’s dismay. All lamps and fires on board were extinguished, windows were bolted shut and everything battened down. The winds picked up, howled mournfully beyond the window. When she peered out, all she could see were foamy whitecaps, higher and rougher with each wave. The sky, or at least what she could see of it, was pewter-gray with an ominous black hue. Lightning sliced across the odd-looking sky, and thunder rolled through the heavens like the roar of some angry mythical beast.
She moved away from the window as the ship lurched beneath her feet. The skies opened up then, and rain pounded against the decks. As the wind worsened, it through rattled the glass in the brass window frame. One such gust actually blew the window open and the wind roared through the small cabin to send Drew’s carefully arranged papers airborne.
“Oh, no.” She threw herself at the window to close it. A groan rose to her lips as fastened the latch, then turned to survey the damage. Papers scattered everywhere, in all directions, on the floor around the desk. “Oh, damn.”
She tried to organize them to no avail. The swirling wind had jumbled them all together. “I only hope I have the chance to explain this before he goes in search of something again.”
Finally, everything was neatened as best as she could manage, and she set them back atop the desk. Glass rattled ominously behind her. “I need something to weight these down.”
A book. She swept her fingers along the row of spines. They brushed the book of Keats’ poetry and she yanked her hand away as if the faded red cloth burned her fingers. She had no desire to see that love note tucked within its pages.
Why was she so troubled that Drew kept that note pressed between those pages? It was undated, and could have been from a boyhood love that he had long since forgotten about. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make herself believe that. Each time she glanced at that shelf, her eyes were drawn to that blasted book, the note beneath its cover mocking her at every turn.
“Enough already,” she muttered through clenched teeth. She pulled down two larger books to set atop the piles of paper. “If you keep this up, you will surely drive yourself mad.”
But the thought lingered, jabbed her brain like a loose spring that poked through a coach seat.
The ship gave a mighty lurch. She toppled from her chair, and she sprawled across the polished floor. Lightning streaked across the sky once more. Thunder clapped to knock her troubled thoughts from her mind, as she jumped with each crash.
The ocean grew rougher still as the hours passed, tossed the Triton as if she weighed nothing. The books weighing down the stacks of papers proved quite useless as the ship pitched wildly to fling both the books and the papers to the floor.
Her stomach roiled, worse with each rise and fall of the cabin. This time, she didn’t care about the mess. She felt far too horrid to care.
“I hope this is the only storm we face.”
She had dragged herself from the chair to the bed, where she lay curled in a ball, knees drawn to her chest and her eyes squeezed shut. She was terrified she was going to retch, and tried to fight off the rising nausea with every fiber in her body. The last thing she wanted to do was befoul Drew’s cabin.
Several more hours passed before the door swung open and Heather forced one eye open to see Drew lurch in. He appeared thoroughly soaked and looked exhausted with dark, bruise like smudges marring the skin beneath his eyes, as if his battle with the elements had turned physical.
He staggered over to the wardrobe, tugged it open, then rummaged through it until he came up with a towel, which he draped over his head. He vigorously rubbed his hair dry and let the towel drape about his neck.
He crossed over to stand beside the bed. “Are you all right down here?”
She nodded weakly, afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d be ill.
He frowned. “I’ll have Bobby bring you a bucket, Heather. You look as though you might need one.”
She swallowed hard against the rising sour taste in her mouth. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not so certain of that, my lady.”
She took a deep breath to quell another surge of nausea. “How is it topside?”
He groaned. “If Hell had water, I’d think that was where we were.”
“Is it safe up there?”
“Nothing on board a ship is ever completely safe, my lady. But we’re taking all precautions. Supper will be cold, as all fires have been extinguished.”
&nb
sp; The very thought of eating made her wince. “I think I shall pass on supper, if you don’t mind.”
He crouched down beside the bed. “No. You’re looking a little green. Eating probably wouldn’t be wise.”
She pressed a hand into her belly. “I’m feeling more than a little green.”
“Don’t wait up for me. I could be out there all night.”
“Will you be all right?”
He smiled. “I’ll be fine, love. Sleep now. By morning, hopefully, this will have blown over.”
The storm seemed to go on forever, instead of only raging for a few hours. She wasn’t so certain they would ever see daylight again. “What time is it?”
“Late afternoon. Now, no more questions. Try to get some sleep.” His thumb swept along her cheekbone. “We will come through this, Heather. Trust me. It isn’t the first storm I’ve ever faced. I will be fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. Now, sleep.” He brushed her forehead with a light kiss, then stood upright. “I’ll send Bobby down with that bucket.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He tossed the towel over the back of one of the chairs at the table and was gone, back up to the wheel.
She stared at the closed door as his footfalls faded away. He hadn’t even bothered to change his clothes. Hopefully, he wouldn’t catch his death from the rain. And that was the least of her worries.
Her greatest? That he’d be struck by the lightning that flashed all around them, or he’d be washed overboard by one of the huge waves that slapped up against the ship.
She watched in horror as a finger of frothy white foam oozed around the window frame and trickled down the wall. A wave slammed into the side of the ship. The Triton shuddered, then tilted sharply. Heather grabbed the far edge of the bed so she wouldn’t tumble to the floor.
She tried to sleep, but it refused to come. Every few minutes, a bolt of lightning would illuminate the entire cabin, and she knew the long, low growl of thunder would follow. The anticipation alone was enough to keep her awake. Finally, as the blackness began fading to gray, she managed to doze off.