by Mary Wine
"Good news, miss. We've sighted our ship." She didn't know the face of the man addressing her, but he was British.
"What ship is that?"
"Commissioner Mordaunt's flagship, ma'am. She's off the starboard side. We're set to row over to her within the hour. Those Americans won't be any trouble what with us traveling with another ship." He placed a tray on the small barrel which served as table and chair in the cabin. He closed the door again, this time she heard the grating of a bolt being slid into place. It was a chilling sound. One that unleashed desperation in her. It bounced around inside her skull until it was as loud as thunder.
Stomping her foot on the cabin's planks, she broke the spell, ordering herself to think. She had managed to survive in Godford's house and she would not buckle. There was a way. All she had to do was think the matter through.
Reaching for the tray, she ate what it offered. Strength was the key to success. She shied away from thinking about Warren. It was her own doing, the mess that was making her heart bleed.
The least she might do was learn from the experience and not make another colossal mistake.
Like marrying Mordaunt.
She refused.
"You've managed to cause me a great deal of trouble."
Adam Mordaunt greeted her with a frown. Standing on the command deck of his ship, he raked
her with his cold eyes.
"Indeed. I fail to see how I am the party responsible for setting these events in motion," Lorena informed him.
"Of course you don't understand. You are a woman after all." He delivered the slight easily, without one hint of chivalry. "If you hadn't defied me, you would have been safely installed in my home. Thereby making it impossible for any escaping convicts to use you as their shield.
They would have been stopped and you would have been present at our wedding as I planned it."
He stepped closer, his nostrils flaring. "Your actions have cost us information which would have been quite valuable."
Her eyes narrowed. This man was pompous and reeked of his own pride. His gaze flickered with hunger, turning her stomach.
"Still, we have an arrangement, madam. Fetching you back was a matter of honor."
He closed the distance between them, his eyes still burning with lust.
"You have an agreement with my stepfather. I wish you the best of luck with it," she announced firmly.
"One you shall honor, madam."
Something else flickered in his eyes and it looked exactly like the emotion she'd witnessed in Bart Carroll's. Greed.
Stepping closer, she stared up into his face. "I would rather build your fort."
He stared at her for a long moment, silence surrounding them as the crew attempted to look like they were invisible. A soft male chuckle broke the silence, Mordaunt's lips twitching up at the corners. He reached out and stroked her cheek. The touch made her skin crawl. Lorena jumped away from him, her stomach churning with disgust.
"You shall simply have to change your mind, my dear. One third of St. John shipping has been promised to me and I intend to wed you to complete the contract."
"One third?" It was much more than she'd ever expected. Godford didn't have to settle so much on her. By law, he had the right to keep half her mother's holdings.
"Quite so." Greed mixed with lust on his face, transforming him into the ugliest man she had ever seen.
"Not so. I shall not bind myself to you in front of a parson."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her show of temper.
"We shall see."
He smiled at her. A chilling expression that only intensified her resolve to refuse him.
"We shall."
He didn't care for her answer. All traces of enjoyment faded, leaving a cold expression. "You shall sail under Lieutenant Bridges' command. I want to make sure you aren't carrying that
convict's bastard. Or grant you the opportunity to insinuate it is mine because of the close confines of ship."
That suited her well. At least it was better than sharing a ship with him. Out on the open water, her choices were few. But climbing down to the dingey that would take her toward the second ship, Lorena felt relief moving over her. Tension still remained, but time could help that. She was certain of it. At least she would tell herself that.
Because the alternative was to sink into despair.
The days became long. Time became a torment that pushed her almost to the point of breaking every single hour. Back aboard the second British ship, Lorena once more existed in a state of being ignored. There was one marked difference this time. The men watched her when they
thought the officers weren't looking. Speculative glances that bordered on leers. Many of them licked their lips. But the ones who worried her most were the older men who looked at her with fear in their eyes. They made the sign of the cross over themselves when their duties brought them too close to her. Women had often been considered bad luck aboard ship. Seeing that belief in the eyes of the crew turned her skin cold.
Adam Mordaunt's ship kept pace with them. She grew to detest the sight of it. Lorena remained on the command deck in spite of it. Scanning the horizon for any hint of reprieve from her
impending reunion with Mordaunt. The wind was not their friend. It blew only at half-strength.
Food was rationed by their third week out at sea.
The nights became her sanctuary. The only time she allowed herself to think of Warren. Alone in her tiny cabin, she couldn't fend off the dreams of her lover. So she stopped fighting them. She needed her strength to endure the silent days. The lack of interaction from her companions left her with nothing to do save turn over her thoughts in her head.
And dread the coming confrontation with her fiance.
But she found her courage stirring whenever she considered Adam Mordaunt. What she dreaded
was the certain knowledge the meeting would not be pleasant. The world was a far larger place than it had been six months ago. Godford looked kinder with every possessive, controlling
glance she received from Lieutenant Bridges.
Three weeks and four days out to sea, fate turned vicious. The ship bobbed higher on the swells when Lorena climbed up to the deck. It was hushed, tension gripping every man on board.
She gasped when she looked up. A wall of clouds sat in front of them. It stretched from the edge of the horizon and all the way across with no relief in sight. The edges were white but the core of it was darkest gray. The wind whipped the sails about like toys and she could hear the Lord's Prayer being muttered.
"Hurricane, Miss St. John. Better tie yourself to your bunk." Lieutenant Bridges barely spared her a glance as he tossed a length of rope to her.
"There's no way around it."
The younger officer's voice was raised out of its normal controlled tone. Lieutenant Bridges didn't take issue with the man either. His hands were curled tightly about the wheel, his eyes on the swollen cloud mass. Lorena stared as well.
The sight was mesmerizing in a horrid way. So much power and their ship was soon to be at its mercy. They were trying to cross the path of the wind in short direction changes but the wind blew them about with ease.
"Below deck, Miss St. John."
She went, the rope hugged against her chest. White water was churning up to the level of her small porthole now. Hurrying to close it, she pushed the latch to secure it. There was nothing to do but wait and pray. She did end up knotting the rope through the frame of her bunk before the night was finished. The ship tilted so far on its side, she was sure it would roll. Somehow, right when it was teetering on its edge, the wind would give enough relief so that the hull could crash down into the water. The wind howled so loud it was deafening. At least it covered up some of the sounds of the wooden hull groaning. The timbers that made up the ship
creaking and grinding while it was twisted by nature's fury.
The night seemed to go on forever until she realized the sun simply could not p
enetrate the storm clouds, leaving them in a gray light that didn't illuminate her small cabin.
A day later the ship returned to bobbing. Lorena gasped with relief, tears touching her eyes. Only two glided down her cheeks before her body refused to lose any more precious water. No one
had eaten in days, the crew too focused on keeping the ship afloat. She opened her cabin door to wet wood planks. Even the walls were soaked, the scent of water making her mouth feel drier.
There was light now with the hatches open to the upper deck. Sunlight streamed in, more
precious than she'd ever given it credit for. The cook was in the galley, his small stove lit once again. He looked up, his face lined with deep folds.
"Good to see you up and about, miss."
"Indeed, I was just about to say the same to you, sir."
He smiled. "I expect you're thirsty." Something in his tone warned her that things were not well.
Lorena handed over the small pewter pitcher that was her measure for the day. The cook took it but only poured a quarter of the amount into it.
"Water barrels broke during the storm. We'll not be done praying for deliverance yet."
The sunlight suddenly took on a different meaning. Glancing back at it, Lorena noticed how
strong it was. The water soaking the walls and floor was evaporating while she watched.
"How far is port?"
"It better be close and the wind steady."
He handed her the pitcher and went back to his work. The ship was still rolling, so she wrapped a strong hand around the small pitcher and kept her opposite one on the wall. She took only a few sips of it before securing it in her cabin. Her mouth was still dry but her suffering would be worse if she drank too much now. Climbing to the command deck, she looked out over the ship.
Men were in the rigging, collecting water from the rolled-up canvas sails with their mugs and small barrels. It was a desperate effort which sent a chill through her. Every man was stripped down to his shirt and vest to keep them cool without perspiring.
A sense of foreboding kept her company as she hurried down to her cabin to strip her socks off.
If the wind died, she swore she was going to strip the petticoat off as well. Suffering the thing was idiotic considering the lack of water. But something needled at her. Something that wanted her attention.
"Of course..."
It burst on her and she hurried back up onto the command deck. Mordaunt's ship wasn't
anywhere in sight. The fury of the storm seemed to have separated them.
"Such tender concern." Lieutenant Bridges was watching her from the corner of his eye. He turned to assess her with a harsh look.
"You don't know the commissioner very well if you somehow hope the storm took him under."
Disgust edged his voice.
"And you, sir, are a presumptuous clod if you think you know anything at all about me."
Surprise appeared on his face.
"I am heartily tired of being hauled about like a convict. In truth the only thing missing are the chains. Oh yes, and of course the conviction. I never transgressed against the law, sir, and yet I find my person being delivered like any common thief to your fort for incarceration and
punishment," she informed him. "So do not expect me to continue being polite."
"You were betrothed, madam. An arrangement steeped in tradition."
Lorena arched one eyebrow. "Truly? I believe being met with a strike across my face was the end of my willingness to honor that agreement. Do you have any sisters? Or daughters,
Lieutenant?"
His demeanor changed, his expression turning guarded, a hint of indecision flickered across his gaze.
"That is not relevant."
"If you stand by while other wives are treated so poorly, do not be surprised when your own family members suffer the same at the hands of your fellow naval officers. You'll be expected to turn your back the same as you are doing now. I for one am not so interested in marrying a good name that I will endure such atrocities simply to have others envy my position."
"I believe you've made your point, Miss St. John."
His words were chilly but they lacked the condescending edge she'd always heard before.
He surveyed the crew, looking up into the rigging before casting a glance back at her.
"This is a crown vessel, madam. Keep your words low. But do me the service of recalling that many of us were raised as gentleman and we are as caught in the net of what is expected of us as you are."
Lieutenant Bridges took his own advice. His voice was so low she had to strain to make out the words. Anyone looking at them would not have known he was actually talking with her. The
man faced the open deck, his hands locked firmly behind him.
"That is a delight to hear, Lieutenant."
She let her own voice trail off. A strange sense of comradeship wrapped around her. It would appear she was not the only one caught up in Mordaunt's grip.
"It shouldn't be." The lieutenant turned to consider her with a grave look. "You are as trapped as I am. Mordaunt rules absolutely on Bermuda."
She'd noticed that before...
Today she almost wished for ignorance. But that would mean not knowing what it felt like to kiss a man. She had kissed Warren and enjoyed it. To think she might never have known what
passion freely given felt like was a tragedy. She would have that memory to cherish. Mordaunt couldn't take it from her.
But that wouldn't stop the man from taking everything else he wanted once she was back in his fort. She stared out to sea, wondering if surviving the hurricane was lucky or not. Her heart rejected such a pitiful yearning. She wanted to live. Where there was life there was hope. She refused to give up.
"Sails ho!"
Up on the yardarm, the look-out pointed off the port side of the ship. In the distance a ship sailed toward them, British colors flying atop her main mast.
"Sails aft!"
Lieutenant Bridges turned in a flash, his eyes scanning the area behind his ship. Two more ships were rapidly gaining on them. They sailed out of the remains of the storm with the wind aiding them. Their sails were still wet but billowed out with the strong wind. They held the advantage of the approaching ship in front of them.
"American colors!"
"Come about!" Bridges shouted at his men, his gaze returning to the two ships gaining on his vessel. They were sailing wide enough apart to pass on either side of them. A position no
commander wanted his ship in. With their cannon windows open, they could fire a volley into the belly of the ship, ripping her to shreds.
"Does that American have a reason to come after you, Miss St. John?" "I...I don't believe so," she floundered, trying to recognize the ships bearing down on them. For all the time she'd spent on board the Huntress, she didn't recall what the ship's bow looked like.
"Let us hope he does. If not, you may die along with the rest of us."
"But we are not at war with America."
Lieutenant Bridges face was set into a hard expression, one she recalled seeing on Warren a time or two. "That matters little out here."
The grim certainty in his tone unleashed a ripple of foreboding. The muscles tightened along her back until they ached. She turned to look at the approaching ships, her mouth going dry.
"Powder's wet, sir."
Bridges turned to stare at his crewman. "Check the forward stores."
"Aye, sir."
Men ran across the deck, their footfalls sounding like thunder. Lorena flattened herself against the rail as the junior officers all crowded the small space of the command deck.
"Full sail."
"Stations."
Men climbed the masts and untied the sails without regard for the water they dumped when the canvas was freed. They'd all die of battle wounds and drowning faster than the elements might take them.
"Forward powder wet, sir."
Profane words drifted over the d
eck, mixing with muttered prayers. The combination sent a
prickle over her skin and she wasn't sure which she'd rather do. Pray or cuss.
"They're going to pass us."
The lieutenant sounded grave. He held a telescope out to her, his eyes deadly serious.
"See if there is any salvation for us standing aboard that ship."
It was two against one. Her earlier joy at seeing Mordaunt's ship missing suddenly seemed very short sighted.
Her hands shook when she slid the brass sections into place. In spite of never holding so large a version, a telescope didn't take much skill to use. Keeping it steady against the roll of the ship she stood on and the one she was looking at was the challenge.
Her throat constricted, tightening until she couldn't get a single word out. Her mind froze with shock. Why would he come for her? Never in her life had she thought to matter so much to
anyone. She peered through the telescope, trying to believe what she viewed on the deck of the Huntress.
Disbelief held her in its grip even after she allowed the telescope to lower.
"Let us hope they don't have dry powder." Lieutenant Bridges took the telescope from her.
A cannon fired off, the shot sailing over the deck. The men aboard cursed. The lieutenant's face tightened.
"She's got dry powder."
"I say throw the bitch overboard. She ain't worth dying for," Bart Carroll yelled from the main deck. He pointed a thick finger at her. Many of his shipmates turned ugly scowls her way.
"Keep order there, sir."
The Huntress closed the gap, her cannon windows clearly open. The other ship sailed on the
other side, her crew already standing at the rail with ropes in their hands. Horror gripped her because every man had weapons tucked through his belt. Bart and his fellow seamen were
pulling swords from storage while she watched. The impending bloodbath horrifying her.
"Do it. Throw me over," she said.
Lieutenant Bridges scowled at her. Pride lighting his eyes.
"Enough blood has been spilt, sir. Do not allow more to run today."
Bridges gritted his teeth. A muscle jerked along the side of his jaw.
"I cannot throw you over the rail." He stared into her face. "It would be ungentle manly and unbefitting of an officer to do anything of the sort, I cannot do it or allow you to jump."