When the silence grew more palpable, she mentally braced herself for his reaction, fearing that she had misjudged his character. Was it possible that he would be so furious with her that he would order her to find her way back to Mercy Flats alone?
When the silence stretched, she wanted to cry. Oh, he was angry, and she didn’t blame him. He had every right to be furious with her. He had unselfishly risked his life to rescue her because he’d believed that she was a woman of exemplary virtue. Now he could see that she wasn’t righteous, that she’d only been pretending. Not that she wasn’t basically honorable. She could be when she wanted to be, but she wasn’t nun-righteous. Not a single law-abiding McDougal sister could be found in these parts.
“You’re furious,” she murmured when she couldn’t bear the maddening silence a moment longer.
The captain stared at her, those beautiful eyes fastened like shiny spears to her heart. It was dark, but she imagined that if she could see clearly, she would detect a slow burn creeping up his neckline.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”
When he spoke, there was no sign of the earlier amusement. “Miss…or is it Mrs.?”
“Oh, Miss. Definitely Miss. I’m not married.” That was the whole truth. She’d never met a man she would agree to spend her life with.
“Very little surprises me anymore, but this takes the cake. Why would a single young woman parade around the countryside in a nun’s habit when she isn’t a nun? That’s blasphemous!”
She winced at the piercing tone.
“Do you care to explain your disguise?”
She drew a deep breath. “I’m a thief. The good Lord says it is better to give to the poor than keep everything to yourself.”
His brows knit in a tight glower. “A what?”
“Not a mean thief,” she clarified. “But nevertheless, a thief.” She felt awful having to tell him, but in view of the circumstances, it seemed he should know the worst.
“A thief.” He irritably shifted his stance.
“Yes. Crooked as a dog’s hind leg. I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A strained smile touched her lips. The admission hadn’t been so hard. Actually, he had taken the news quite well.
“My sisters are impostors too—the ones who were in the jail wagon with me.”
“Every one is a thief?”
“Not the good sisters who live at the convent. Just me, Abigail, and Anne-Marie.”
“Who would be…?
“My sisters. My blood kin.” Goodness, the conversation had gotten so complicated.
“Of course. That’s why the three of you were in the jail wagon. Because you’re three sister-thieves dressed in nuns’ clothing.”
She nodded, smiling. “Exactly.”
His bark stunned her. “I’ve squandered twelve hours and risked my mission for a bunch of thieving women?”
Smile fading, she backed up a step. “You said you wouldn’t get mad.” His face had become rather mottled. Yes, even in the dim campfire light, she could detect the subtle difference in shade. She feared she had strained the man’s patience.
He strode around the fire and jerked open the straps on the saddlebags. After fishing inside, he produced a pair of wrinkled overalls and a plaid shirt and pitched the items to her.
“What is this?”
“Change your clothes.”
“Why? It’s a marvelous disguise—”
“Change your clothes!” His eyes skimmed her with distaste. “Sister. What is the world coming to? Women running around the countryside dressed as nuns, conning innocent people.”
“Just men.”
“Whatever! It’s wrong.”
The gloves were off. She heard it clearly in his tone. She stiffened, terrified to twitch an eye. “You are angry.”
He nodded at the clothing. “Get out of that nun’s habit.”
“Do I offend your faith?”
“You do, madam.”
“I honestly am sorry.” She reached out to shake his hand. It was the least she could do in the awkward situation.
He stared at her extended fingers. Finally, with an impatient sigh, he took her offering and gave it a perfunctory shake. “Change your clothes.”
“I’m sorry about the fib.”
“Now!”
She jumped and backed toward the row of scrub behind her. He hadn’t said he’d accept her apology, but he hadn’t said he wouldn’t. She ducked behind the bushes and unfastened the top hook on her gown. “I can still ride to Galveston with you tomorrow, can’t I?” He wouldn’t leave her here alone, no matter how angry he was with her.
“To Galveston,” he returned, “and not a mile farther.”
“I won’t be a bother. You’ll hardly know I’m around.”
The grunt that followed did nothing to lessen her worry. Until now he’d been reserved and polite, but now that he knew the truth, would he be hostile toward her? Would she lose his protection?
Captain Morgan Kane didn’t know her. Worse yet, it seemed he didn’t want to know her. She’d seen the feeling of betrayal in his eyes, watched his attention turn to sheer disbelief. And no wonder. She would feel exactly the same if someone had tricked her.
When she stepped from the brush, he had changed into denims and a plaid shirt. With his military uniform draped over his arm, he brushed past her with a brief glance. The dashing Northern captain was gone. Watching his back as he spread his bedroll, she thought he looked like a poor dirt farmer, but when he rose to his full height and turned to face her, she recognized the pride in his military stance. He was still a captain, but not her former captain. The chill in his gaze exposed the degree of her deception.
She swallowed around the rising lump in her throat. His icy regard was difficult to witness, and she had no one but herself to blame.
He tossed a bedroll at her feet. “Turn in. We ride at daybreak.” The curt response cut her deeply. A spark of resentment flickered to life. She’d only told him the truth. She could have fooled him forever with her nun’s charade, but she’d trusted him with the truth, and this was the thanks she got for honesty?
Her chin lifted, and she brushed the bedroll aside. “You don’t need to use that tone of voice with me. I understand instruction.” She bent to unroll the pallet next to his. “I understand your disappointment, but I—”
“Go to sleep.”
Her jaw dropped open. “I’ll have you know, Captain Kane, that I—”
He rolled over and sat up so suddenly that she strangled a cry when his face came perilously close. His eyes bored into hers, and her breath froze in her throat.
“The rules have changed, Sister,” he said in a tight voice. “Go to sleep.”
He was so close she could see the dark flecks in his eyes. “I truly am sorry for the charade,” she whispered. She could feel the heat of his anger, yet she was undeniably drawn to him.
“Go. To. Sleep.” Each word came out as if it were a fired pistol. “In the morning I will take you to the docks and pay for your passage to wherever you choose. Tonight I want you to lie down and keep quiet. Is that clear?”
Their gazes locked in a silent duel. She’d never been this close to a man, and the experience intrigued and terrorized her. She liked his scent—woodsy and manly but in a pleasant way. His hair lay in curly waves at the base of his neck. His forearms were a bit hairy, and the scant patch she saw above his shirt collar was dark. She had a hunch the captain had broken more than one fair lady’s heart.
And she strongly sensed hers wouldn’t be one of them.
Her voice cracked. “I understand that you’re angry, and you have every right to be, but you could ask a little more nicely.”
Without so much as a “Good night,” he dismissed her and lay down.
Well, so much for men. If that was his attitude, so be it. Abigail had been right. Men—all men—were worthless.
Two
Am
elia stirred and opened her eyes. The beginnings of dawn lifted the fading darkness. She glanced at the bedroll, and her heart skipped a beat. The captain was gone.
Her gaze switched to the fire’s dying embers. The coffeepot and even his saddle were missing. Her gaze darted to the tree where he’d tethered his horse the night before. Gone. Without a word, without a shred of evidence he’d ever been there except for the army blanket now snugly wrapped around her.
Maybe she imagined him. Perhaps her entire encounter with him had only been a dream.
No, he’d been real. Her creativity wasn’t good enough to make up anything as remarkable as Captain Morgan Kane.
She sat up, holding her head in her hands. She’d never been alone, not completely. She would just sit here all day until she thought of what to do. She sat up straighter when she heard muffled hoofbeats.
“On your feet, Sister.”
She lifted her head, and her heart leapt when she saw the captain sitting astride his horse, wearing a grim expression.
Harsh reality was back.
“Where have you been?” she snapped, forgetting for the moment that she’d missed him not a minute ago. “I was scared to death, thinking that you’d rode off without me.”
“I’ve been shopping.”
“Shopping!” If she weren’t so grateful to see him, she would give him more than a piece of her mind. Her eyes followed his gesture to the scrawny mule standing behind his horse. “What’s that?”
“Transportation.”
“That thing?”
Turning his horse, he started to ride off. “You can walk if you like, Anabelle.”
“The name is Amelia.” She threw off the blanket and tried to focus. Apparently the man’s hospitality went just so far. There would be no steaming hot coffee this morning. She walked to the waiting animal. “Where did you get this?” The mule was so skinny that his backbone stuck out beneath the woven cloth on his back. His coat was long and matted. Beneath his long lashes, he seemed to be regarding her mournfully.
Morgan rode back to give her a leg up. Before she could utter a word, she felt her backside land on the mule’s sharp spine. She was about to voice a protest when she thought better of it. She wouldn’t give the captain the satisfaction, nor did she want to risk the prospect of being left behind.
“New rules, Amelia.”
Her eyes widened as his words from the night before echoed back to her. The rules had changed. Now he’d made up new ones? “All right. What do I have to do?”
“You will not, at any time, address me as Captain. The less you speak, the better.” He raked her with bone-chilling regard. “I’ve been rethinking the situation, and you need to keep the nun disguise.”
“I thought you said the disguise was blasphemous.”
“Apparently the word holds no significance for you. Play the role of the good sister. That should keep us from suspicious eyes. The moment we reach Galveston, I will book your passage on the first vessel sailing near Mercy Flats. Understood?”
“Are you trying to hide something?” Abigail would say the man was up to something sneaky.
Without another word, he shifted the animals and led them out of camp.
A cold wind rolled in from the water as the odd couple rode into Galveston in the late morning. A watery sun glinted off the Gulf of Mexico as Morgan and Amelia directed their animals through town. Threading their way through the crowded streets, they both quietly appraised the situation. The town was oozing Confederate soldiers.
Glancing at the captain, Amelia swallowed. Was he aware that Galveston was a Confederate naval center? Even she knew that, and she hardly knew anything.
If Kane found the atmosphere threatening, he didn’t show it. His features were fixed dispassionately as they rode through town.
Don’t call him Captain. Amelia fixed her thoughts on Morgan’s earlier warning. To address his rank would only set him off again, and he had been sullen from the moment she’d told him the truth about herself. A wave of loneliness washed over her. Were Abigail and Anne-Marie safe? Was it possible that she might never see them again? O Father, please don’t judge my sisters harshly. We have all sinned—perhaps me the worst.
The dirt-poor farmer and the sister in a threadbare habit casually wove their way past rows of weather-beaten storefronts, blending in with the teeming crowd.
Mud-packed streets were filled with boisterous Confederate naval soldiers. Ship boys and officers alike, now roaring drunk, celebrated a few hours’ reprieve from sea duty aboard steamy, heaving decks smelling of salt air and gunpowder.
Amelia’s eyes anxiously scanned the area. Swallowing drily, she focused her eyes on the noisy mayhem. Bad things happened to other people, but never to the McDougal sisters. Sister Agnes once noted that everyone at the convent was blessed beyond measure, and Amelia believed her. People were always blessing the McDougal sisters up one side and down the other.
Amelia’s eyes darted to the various signs tacked to storefront windows, offering a reward for the notorious “Dov Lanigan,” a daring privateer who was barbarously good with a knife and sold women for profit. The evil privateer had quite a price on his head.
Spying a vacancy at a nearby hitching post, Morgan maneuvered the animals toward the railing and dismounted. Securing the reins, the couple stood for a moment, eyes fixed on the milling crowd.
Amelia edged closer to the captain and murmured from the corner of her mouth, “Better watch it. The enemy is everywhere.”
He glanced down at her. “What?”
“They’re all around us.” She motioned with her eyes to their treacherous surroundings. “The enemy is everywhere.”
Her voice carried like a feather in a hurricane.
She stepped closer, working her words through stiff lips. “Did you hear what I said?” If he was up to something sneaky, he had clearly led them into a nest of hornets now.
He gave her a glare that would blister the paint off a ship.
“What?” she asked, annoyed by his look. She couldn’t do anything to please the man!
“Lower your voice.”
“What?”
“Lower your voice!”
Color suffused her cheeks. Was he implying she talked too loud?
“Lower your voice,” he demanded softly.
“I’m not talking loudly.” She was appalled that he thought she was. Wasn’t that just like a man? Try to look out for his safety, and all he could do was criticize. “I’m trying to warn you that you’d better be careful because this town is crawling—”
Her eyes widened as his hand clamped over her mouth.
She mumbled a garbled indignation. The dispute was starting to draw a crowd.
Well, that did it! He’d insulted her one too many times! Never in her entire life had anyone but her sisters ever told her to quiet down. Tears smarted in her eyes. He was the one putting them in danger. She got in his face. “Who are you to tell me to—”
“Quiet down,” he whispered, his tone losing some of its sting. “Your voice carries. You’re causing a spectacle.”
“My voice carries?” She stiffened. “My voice carries!” And to think she’d once thought him to be a gentleman. A gentleman did not tell a woman her voice carried.
A passing couple turned to focus on the dispute. Shedding his hat, Morgan greeted the lady. “Morning, ma’am.”
She nodded.
Grasping Amelia’s arm, he ushered her onto the walk. “For your information, Captain Rude,” she barked, as if they were alone in the desert instead of in the midst of the Confederate navy, “I was only trying to help.”
Her voice bounced off the storefront wall. Turning his back to her, Morgan greeted another couple. When they passed, he said between gritted teeth, “I told you not to refer to me as Captain.”
She glared at his back, unsettled by the lightning-quick turn of his personality. Where was the formal, courteous Yankee officer she had found so attractive? Gone, that’s where. Gone just like
her freedom. “I am aware of the danger.”
She was unwilling to overlook his atrocious conduct. Some women might, but not her. She had misjudged him. He was an ill-tempered… snob. “Since I’m such a loudmouth, you’ll want to be rid of me as quickly as possible.”
Unbuckling the strap on his saddlebag, Morgan removed a roll of currency and peeled off three bills and handed them to her. “Two blocks down the street is the ship’s office. Tell the clerk you want to buy passage on a vessel sailing near Mercy Flats on the morning tide.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
His dubious glance conveyed that he thought otherwise. “Just do as you’re told.”
She listened with crossed arms, tapping her foot impatiently as he went on to warn her not to talk to anyone, to keep to herself. He was treating her as if she were an infant.
“With any luck, you’ll be enjoying a hot meal aboard ship within the hour. Are you listening?”
She glared into space. “Yes.”
“Lower your voice.”
She whirled and marched off. She didn’t have to take this. She didn’t want his help. She would crawl to Mercy Flats on her hands and knees before she’d accept his money.
“Amelia!” All patience left his voice now.
“I can take care of myself, Cap—Mr. Rude! You don’t bother your head about me one more minute.”
“Amelia,” Morgan repeated tightly. “Get back here.”
“Go skip rocks.”
In a few long strides, Morgan overtook her. Grasping her firmly by the arm, he halted her flight.
“Take your hand off my arm, or I’ll scream.”
“You won’t. You’ve got more brains than that.” His hand dropped away, his compliance assuring her that he was trying to keep this civil.
He smiled at the small crowd that had grown larger. Curious faces watched the vocal dispute taking place between the farmer and the nun.
“Just a minor disagreement,” he assured in a thinly strained voice, motioning for the puzzled spectators to move on.
A sturdy chap with robin’s-egg-blue eyes stepped up, respectfully doffing his sailor’s hat. “Is this man bothering you, Sister?”
Amelia and the Captain Page 2