by Brenda Novak
Nathaniel strode to the wheel. “Tack to the east and make another pass. If we don’t find anything, we’ll head back come morning,” he told the ship’s navigator.
The boat shifted as his instructions were carried out, and the Vengeance’s course was set for another sweeping circle. They moved at a moderate speed, sails billowing like huge pillows in the sky, while Nathaniel watched the sun melt into the water.
The color of the ocean darkened to inky black, mirroring the stars that began to shine overhead, and he thought he would never leave the sea. It was the mother he never knew, his teacher, his healer, his friend.
“Are we going to head back?” Trenton came to stand beside his captain, and Nathaniel’s eyes shifted to his friend’s face.
“Aye. I thought it strange that a ship of my father’s would put in at a Russian port. Although England has yet to declare war, it is only a matter of time. Soon English ships will no longer be allowed in Russian ports like those of neutrals.”
“Ever since the Russians destroyed the Turkish squadron at Sinope last November, war has been inevitable,” Trenton agreed, propping himself against the railing. “England can hardly allow her ally to sustain such aggression without some kind of support. If Czar Nicholas takes Constantinople, he’ll control the overland route to India.”
“Regardless of our allies, England could never stand for that.” Nathaniel sighed, watching the dim shadow of Garth climb about the rigging, trimming and adjusting the sails. “My father has eluded us, this time. But there will be other opportunities.”
“Do you think he purposely leaked faulty information?”
“Perhaps.”
“Is Rat in league with Greystone?”
“No, he wouldn’t have placed his life in our hands if he were. I think the schedule was altered after we received our information. If my father was wise, he would make more last-minute changes.”
Trenton grunted, then moved away as Nathaniel looked heavenward.
If only life could be so peaceful, Nathaniel thought, his mind once again returning to his half sister. After the day he had almost kissed her, he had ordered a hammock strung in his cabin. He slept there himself, giving Anne the bed. He’d offered no explanation, nor could he think of a good one. Nathaniel only knew that he avoided any contact with her because the test he had given her had backfired. He had meant to finally put his mind to rest concerning her identity. But that was hardly the outcome of their brief encounter. Now touching her was what he craved most.
He pictured her long blond tresses curling down around her face, her large green eyes gazing up at him with their thick, sooty lashes, and couldn’t help but smile. She was beautiful. And stubborn. And courageous. And so damn tempting that sometimes he couldn’t sleep for listening to her every movement in the bed.
Nathaniel swore. How could a man desire his own sister? It wasn’t natural. But there were times when he wanted to caress her tenderly, to protect her from the world, and to his utter mortification, feel her soft flesh beneath him.
He had to think of a way to rescue Richard, he decided, and rid himself of Anne at the earliest opportunity.
* * *
At dawn Alexandra braved the sailors and the chill air to visit the deck. She stood near the bulwarks, gazing out to sea, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility.
Though the sun peeked over the horizon, the water was still dark and glassy, with occasional white foaming waves that splashed high into the air. The sight captivated her. She had not seen its equal for beauty. But even the prospect of such a spectacular view had not been the reason Alexandra had left the cabin and risked running into Rat again. Nathaniel was. He had washed, shaved, and brushed his teeth before leaving their cabin only moments before, and she had followed him.
What was it about him, she thought irritably, that made her listen for his step at the door, hear his voice amid the hum of many others? He was a blackguard.
He looked dangerous, stealthy, full of grace and power. Yet he was not like the usual ruffian. No common slang marred his speech, and an air of authority, even magnetism, flowed from him. Alexandra could hardly keep her eyes on the splendor before her, knowing that he stood nearby.
“...we’ll stop there next trip...”
She enjoyed the rich timbre of his voice as she listened to him talk to Garth somewhere behind her, and she thought about the fabric she had found in his trunk. She longed to create something with it, but the garment that kept coming to mind was none other than a full dress shirt for the pirate captain himself, which made no sense at all. Why would she want to please him? Or was it simply that his physique so easily lent itself to the creation of beauty?
Alexandra allowed herself a sidelong glance at Nathaniel, then felt the blood rise in her cheeks when she found him watching her. She looked quickly back to the east, trying to ignore him, but a moment later he came to stand beside her.
“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” she asked, growing uncomfortable when he didn’t speak.
“Only you,” he said.
Startled, Alexandra looked up into his face. She expected him to turn his words into some kind of a taunt, but he looked in earnest.
“I’ve done everything I can do to improve this dress with my needle,” she said, unsure how to respond to the compliment. “Washing it in seawater has all but ruined it and makes me itch like mad.”
“I could lend you something else, but I doubt my clothes would do justice to your form.”
Alexandra raised an eyebrow, remembering her part as Lady Anne. “Wear men’s clothing? Never.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t give you a choice. It’s foolish to be so uncomfortable.”
John interrupted them then, and Nathaniel excused himself. Striding off to settle some issue between the cook and the purser, he left Alexandra to puzzle over his unpredictable behavior. She never knew what to expect from him.
She lingered on the deck until the sun grew bright and full, then went below to find a hip bath sitting in the middle of the floor.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, rushing over to feel the water. It was fresh, and warm as well. She longed to rid her body of the salt that made her skin miserably dry, but a knock interrupted her before she could remove her clothes.
“Come in,” Alexandra called, afraid to turn her head away from the bath for fear it would disappear.
Charlie, the ship’s cook, entered. He carried a pail of water, his frown so deep it reminded Alexandra of the lines on the face of a wooden puppet.
“As if the captain doesn’t bathe enough already,” he grumbled, eyeing her resentfully. “Now we got to be haulin’ water for the enemy’s kin. But I ain’t never ‘ad to heat it before.”
The buxom woman tattooed on Charlie’s arm danced as he poured the water out of his pail, and Alexandra suppressed a giggle of delight, unaffected by the cook’s displeasure. She couldn’t imagine what had motivated Nathaniel to provide her with such a rare treat, but at that moment she could have kissed his feet.
“That’s the last of it,” Charlie muttered as he left.
“Thank you.” Alexandra twirled in circles once the door closed behind him. She’d had nothing but sponge baths for a week and was anxious to enjoy the real thing—until she remembered that the cabin door had no lock. Nathaniel had had it removed before she ever boarded the Vengeance, refusing her the option of locking it against him. Now Alexandra feared he, or someone else, might interrupt her.
Letting her fingers dangle, she felt the water quickly losing its precious heat.
She couldn’t waste such a luxury, she reasoned. Charlie had gone to a great deal of trouble, and fresh water was too precious aboard a ship.
Retrieving the cake of soap from the washstand and setting it within easy reach of the bath, she undid the myriad of tiny buttons that descended from her collar to her waist. The gown fell past her hips to the floor. She laid it across the bed, then hurriedly removed her undergarments and stepped in.
�
��Ohhhh,” she groaned, hunching down until the water rose up to her neck. Sinking beneath it, she scrubbed her head, then lathered her body.
Once clean, Alexandra lingered, unwilling to get out until the water’s heat had completely dissipated—or she turned into a prune, which happened sooner than she would have liked. Rising, she felt the chill of the drafty cabin as she began to dry off.
No sooner had she wrapped the towel around herself than Nathaniel opened the door.
“I’m sorry. I thought I had given you ample time—” He stopped as his gaze traveled from the top of Alexandra’s wet head to her cleavage, over the round curve of her hips and down to her bare calves and feet. Instead of turning away with a mumbled apology as a gentleman surely would have, he stared at her with such hunger that she wondered if she might be his next meal.
Instinctively she raised her hands to shield her breasts from his view, then realized they were covered already.
“I—I—” Her words died at the passion in his eyes. Tearing her own gaze from Nathaniel’s face, she turned away, and when she looked back over her shoulder, he was gone.
That night Nathaniel came in late. Alexandra heard him strip in the dark and get into the cold bath and scrub his hair. Silently she rolled over in the bed to see if she could catch a glimpse of his muscular torso, but the moonlight filtering in through the porthole was too dim. She could only hear his movements and smell the soap he lathered over his body.
In her imagination, it was her fingers that moved over his skin, not his own. She felt every ripple of muscle, the thickness of his hair, the straightness of his back, the broadness of his shoulders...
Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. What was wrong with her? Dreaming of Nathaniel was madness. He was a criminal. She was his captive. Yet the moment he stepped from the bath, she pictured the water running off his wide chest and down over his long legs.
She knew when he finally dressed and got into his hammock. And she continued to hear every move he made for hours afterward.
* * *
At dawn, when the first rays of the sun streaked across the sky like long, purple fingers, Nathaniel was already on deck. He had left Anne sleeping, curled into a tight ball. She had stirred often in the night, and once had even whimpered. He knew because he hadn’t slept himself. He’d tossed and turned, unable to get the vision of her wrapped in that towel out of his mind, especially considering she was little more than an arm’s distance away. She was going to drive him mad if he didn’t get rid of her soon.
Charlie gave him a mug of tea. Nathaniel wrapped his hand around the warm cup, then called to his navigator to see how they were progressing on their return to London. Some of his crew moved sluggishly about the rigging, adjusting the sails and checking the rope as he took a sip of the hot brew.
“Ahoy, Captain,” John called. He had the early watch and sat on the fore-topgallant yard, looking out. “Vessel on the windward side.”
Nathaniel handed his unfinished tea back to Charlie. “Can you see the flag?”
Charlie took the cup as a toothless grin split his face. “You think that be the one?”
Nathaniel didn’t answer. He had expected to find his father’s ship closer to the Crimea, but perhaps it had been delayed. He began shouting orders, getting the crew ready just in case.
“The flag! Can you make out the flag?” Nathaniel prompted as John continued to squint through the glass without responding.
“Aye. She’s English all right.”
“And?”
Those crew members who had been lingering in their bunks now flooded the deck.
“‘Tis the Eastern Horizon.”
A chorus of approval broke from the men as Nathaniel sought out his first mate. Trenton stood on the quarterdeck, where he had been testing the wind and searching the skies for any sign of a storm.
“We’re in luck,” Trenton called, making his way toward Nathaniel. “If the weather holds. But Captain Montague was no pushover when we met him last. I wonder how he’ll react in a second go-round.”
Nathaniel shrugged. “You’d think that with as many ships as my father owns, we wouldn’t have to take the same one twice, at least not so soon. But Montague won’t put up much of a fight, not with Anne on board.”
“Do think your father realizes that we’ve taken her to sea with us?”
“Where else would we take her? Besides, doubt alone should be enough to forestall him, and if not, Montague understands the rules of the game. He knows we won’t harm his crew. Maybe he’ll be more cooperative this time.”
“I wouldn’t bet my life on it,” Trenton retorted.
Facing the black speck he now knew to be one of his father’s ships, Nathaniel shouted, “Full press sail. Chase her down. But be careful,” he added. “There’s no telling what new defense they might manage. We will come as no surprise to Montague.”
* * *
When the Eastern Horizon spotted the pirate ship, her captain turned her around and tried to run. It was not a wise decision, Nathaniel thought. She was so laden with cargo that she moved like a tugboat in the choppy water while his sleek, fast-cutting clipper fairly flew toward her. By the time the merchant brig was positioned for a fight, the Vengeance was little more than half a mile away.
Taking his own glass, Nathaniel climbed the mast. He was amazed to see almost forty men crawling about the deck of the Horizon, preparing shot for the ship’s four short carronades, a smaller and lighter version of regular cannons. “Take cover!” he barked. “They mean to fight.”
Seconds later the sound of cannon fire erupted, followed by the splash of shot plunging into the sea less than five feet off their bow. The Vengeance keeled slightly to leeward as it rode the resulting swell before answering with a burst of her own guns. Then both ships tried to position and reload for another round.
“Quickly, quickly,” Nathaniel prodded, sliding down to the deck. If they could get off a round before the Horizon, it might intimidate the brig’s crew, he thought. By no means did he want a prolonged fight.
“And... fire!” Nathaniel yelled the words only seconds before a second blast told him the Horizon had done the same. He braced for possible impact, knowing the small size of his ship was in his favor. He hoped it would be enough. No heavy cargo impaired the Vengeance’s movements, but Nathaniel was fighting four guns with only three—one long, thirty-two-pound swivel cannon amidships, and two brass guns.
“What’s happening?” Anne stumbled out onto the deck, struggling to keep her feet amid the violent rocking of the ship. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the Eastern Horizon and its guns, still smoking from its last volley. “They’re going to sink us!”
“Not if we get them first,” Garth grumbled from where he worked to clean a cannon muzzle of any remaining powder so he could reload.
“Go back to the cabin,” Nathaniel called, intercepting her before she could stray too far from the hatch. “It’s not safe up here.”
“Is it any safer below?”
Nathaniel could tell Anne was terrified. She glanced around as though in disbelief, but he had no time to calm her. “Go! Hurry!”
Another blast of shot sent the ship reeling, and Anne nearly fell back through the hatch. Only Nathaniel’s sure legs and quick reaction saved her. He reached out, holding her upright until she regained her balance. “Now go,” he insisted, “before you get hurt.”
Anne coughed on the acrid smoke that now concealed most of the deck, and turned back. To reassure himself of her safety, Nathaniel watched her go, wondering about the captain of the Eastern Horizon. The son of a passionate Frenchman and a cool English mother, Montague had fought better than expected the first time they had met. But he was proving more stubborn now, despite Anne’s presence.
What could possibly be so valuable that Greystone would risk her life to save it? Pride sometimes made a man do foolish things, but Nathaniel couldn’t fathom the duke firing upon his own daughter. For any reason. By all acc
ounts, he doted on the offspring of his second marriage.
The same doubt that had flickered in Nathaniel’s mind since he had seen the calluses on Anne’s hands made him scowl. What if they had the wrong girl? What if Trenton was mistaken, the story Anne told them about being a needlewoman, true? Too many things didn’t make sense. The duke never responded to their offer to trade for Richard. Of course, his father had thought he had them regardless. But now one of Greystone’s ships fired upon them with seemingly no regard for Anne’s safety.
Fresh anger boiled within Nathaniel, making him more determined than ever to win the private war that raged between him and his father. If it was Anne with whom he’d shared his cabin these ten days past, his father was more despicable than Nathaniel had ever dreamed. And if it wasn’t, if Anne had somehow escaped unscathed, Nathaniel vowed that the Eastern Horizon would not be so lucky. He would take her for Richard.
Trenton approached, shaking his head. “They’re digging in, Captain. I think we can win the fight eventually, but we might end up sinking her in the process. How badly do you want this ship? It could get bloody.”
Staring at the Horizon, Nathaniel mulled over Trenton’s statement. He wanted the ship, more to discover his father’s purpose in sailing her than for any other reason. But he had no desire to kill innocent men or to sink a perfectly good brig.
“There’s no need to waste lives.” He squinted across the distance. “We’ll make as though we’re hit and pull away. Then we’ll follow at a safe distance and surprise Montague and his crew again before dark.”
Trenton whistled. “That kind of thinking is why you’re captain and I’m not.”
“Trenton?”
Nathaniel’s first mate turned back.
“How sure are you about Anne?”
Trenton shook his head, then spat. “If you would have asked me yesterday, I would have bet my life that we had our girl. I still think she could be none other. She looks like the woman I saw four years ago. And we all watched her go into Madame Fobart’s.”