Uncle Holden would know what to do. While other young women my age were courting and seeking out husbands, he taught me to occupy my mind through work, and reading, and dreams. He knew how dangerous it was to let others near my ticking heart.
I should have never left home, never gone after Markham, never tried to find answers.
Callahan and Quinn catch up, their footfalls preceding their arrival. She runs to the far corner of the stern, and the lieutenant leans against the rail beside me. Gusts ruffle his golden-oak hair, swirling strands about his face, which is tan from working in the sun. I scrape my nail into the wooden rail, longing for the familiarity of my uncle’s workshop, the scent of pine shavings and the rhythmic beat of his hammering and chiseling.
Quinn runs to us to share an observation with Callahan about the sea and then darts off again. He smiles to himself.
“You shouldn’t dote on her,” I say. “She needs to prepare for the hardships to come.”
“Let her be a child.”
“I didn’t sentence her to the penal colony.”
Callahan winces. “I had a younger sibling, Tarah. She would have been about the same age as Quinn.”
I tilt back to glance at him. “Would have?”
He stares off into the horizon, his gaze pained. “She was in an accident. I should have been there, but I wasn’t.”
“It’s better you weren’t,” I mutter, my thoughts swinging to my own siblings. Isleen, a talented seamstress, was kind to everyone, and Carlin was brilliant at games and music. My favorite sibling was Tavis. Ten years my senior, he let me ride on his shoulders and hide under his bed during thunderstorms. Tavis was a handsome dresser with a taste for finery. He never raised his voice to me and was swift to dispel disagreements between us younger siblings. I have missed him every day since he passed.
Callahan props his elbows against the rail. “I overheard something that I think you should know. Dr. Huxley has mentioned he admires you. You should be prepared for him to petition for your hand in marriage. His rank as surgeon places him above all the crew except the captain and myself. Should he ask for you, his request will be granted.”
I dig my nails into the wood so hard my fingertips ache. “I’ve no interest in marriage. Not now, nor on the island.”
Callahan tips his head forward in acknowledgment—perhaps agreement?—and returns his focus out to sea.
I peel my fingers off the rail and call for Quinn. She scampers back to me and waves goodbye to the lieutenant.
“Jamison is pleasant company,” she says, skipping alongside my rapid strides.
“Jamison?” I ask.
“The lieutenant calls me by my given name, so he said I could do the same to him.”
Callahan is more charming than I accounted for. I carve on a smile. “You must be thirsty. Let’s find something to drink.”
Quinn and I maneuver across the deck, circumventing flirting couples and lewd-eyed sailors. I climb down the hatch, my determination building with each rung of the ladder. I have given up everything to pursue Markham. Any man who interferes will be sorry.
Chapter Seven
The music starts at sundown. A tin whistle player, drummer, and violinist perform a jaunty tune that drifts down the hatch. I overheard two women discussing their intentions to kiss some crewmen, so I insisted Quinn stay in the hold with me. We swing opposite each other in our own hammocks, backward and forward in unison, while everyone else is up on deck.
Quinn falls asleep despite the noise. I shift positions in my hammock, unable to get comfortable. Tomorrow’s matrimonial ceremony nags at me. To preoccupy myself, I mentally map the layout of the vessel. Quinn was impatient to visit every level of the ship, and I was grateful to keep busy. The Lady Regina has three belowdecks. We were able to sneak down to the others. The crewmen sleep in a bunkroom on our level, the gun deck is below us, and under that is the lower hold. The galley is near the stern, and the surgeon’s cabin and the captain’s and lieutenant’s quarters are off the main deck. Mapping my surroundings quells my anxiety. I start to drift off when a shadow looms over me.
I open an eye and groan. “What is it, Harlow? I was almost asleep.”
“I overheard Dr. Huxley say that he plans to wed you,” she replies. I groan again, irritated that she woke me to tell me something I already know. “You should marry him so you can live in his cabin.”
“I won’t get married to improve my lodging.”
“You’ll have to marry him whether you want to or not. You should benefit from the arrangement somehow.” Harlow peers down at Quinn, who is still fast asleep. “Cuthbert asked the captain if any of the crewmen can take her to wife.”
I push forward in my hammock. “She’s a child!”
“Don’t spin off into another world,” Harlow says, all surliness. “Lieutenant Callahan got mad and Captain Dabney took his side. Quinn won’t be given into marriage.”
I silently thank Callahan, even as I begrudge him the leadership he serves.
“About the lieutenant . . .” Harlow says too nonchalantly. I recognize her snide expression from when she is about to needle me. “Do you know he’s a disgraced earl? A man with a torrid past might settle for a woman of lower standing. Laverick and Claret are vying for his attention. They think winning his fancy will discourage other crewmen from taking an interest in them. Vevina is attempting the same tactic with the captain. You should see the display they’re putting on. The Fox and the Cat are draped all over the lieutenant.”
“Why would I care?”
“You wouldn’t.” Harlow shoves my hammock, sending me swinging, and saunters off.
Good sin, she could annoy the wings off a butterfly. I shut my eyes and try to rest, but more worries about the matrimonial ceremony slither in. Avoiding Dr. Huxley and hoping he will change his mind doesn’t seem to be working. I need another approach.
Rolling out of the hammock, I sneak past Quinn and up the ladder. The western sky is awash with purples and pinks, the eastern horizon a depthless blue deepening by the second. Sailors and prisoners are scattered everywhere, their faces lit by the hanging lamps swinging in the wind. Lieutenant Callahan strums a violin alongside a drummer and a whistle player. His fingers fly across the strings as he moves the bow up and down the neck of the instrument. I haven’t a trained ear for fine music, but his showmanship is mesmerizing.
“Miss O’Shea,” Dr. Huxley says, coming to stand alongside me. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“I was keeping Quinn company.”
“It’s kind of you to look after the lass.” His praise itches, as though his compliment was to establish his own complimentary nature. “Would you like to take a turn about the deck?”
“I would. Thank you, Doctor.”
“Please, call me Alick.” We walk side by side toward the starboard rail, close enough for me to suffocate on his amber cologne. “I recognized the moment we met that you’re of a higher class than your fellow inmates.”
Rudeness seems like an advantageous approach since he presumes I’m a lady of manners. “You’re overexaggerating my station. I come from generations of humble clockmakers.” I allow myself this truth, guessing he will not interrogate me about my parentage.
Dr. Huxley sidesteps a little, giving me room. “I meant no offense, Everley. I thought you might appreciate having an ally on board.”
“An ally I can tolerate. I’ve no need for a husband.”
“Someone disclosed my intentions. I hoped to tell you myself.” He speaks as though I should be delighted. “You and I can assist one another. I can offer you comfort and better accommodations in exchange for your company and care.”
I would rather be stabbed again than depend on him for my welfare.
“You’re willing to live on Dagger Island?” I ask.
“The rumors don’t frighten me. I’ve already agreed to stay and assist their current medic.” He reaches for my hand. “Life on the isle will be lonely.”
“I
’ve no interest in marriage,” I say, jerking away from him. “Not now or ever.”
“Pardon my frankness, but you cannot make that decision.” Dr. Huxley must hear how officious he sounds, because his manner gentles as though he’s tending to a patient. “What difference does it make if you wed now or at the settlement? I would treat you better than a convict.”
“I am a convict, Dr. Huxley.” Stepping nearer to him, I speak as if I’m pointing a blade at his gullet. “My dueling name is Marionette. My competitors will tell you that I am heartless. Any man who compels me into wedlock will shorten his life significantly.”
Dr. Huxley gulps, the whites of his eyes spreading.
Lieutenant Callahan comes around the mast with Claret and Laverick on each arm. He walks stiffly, his limbs close, as though he tried to pull himself from their hold and failed.
“We’re sorry to interrupt,” Laverick says, eyes gleaming.
“Would you two like to be alone?” Claret adds archly.
Callahan studies me with the same expression of worry as he did when my heart seized. My ticker winds up, beating faster and faster.
“I was just leaving.” I push past them and hustle away into the dark.
The shadows offer me promises of privacy and solitude. I slide into their clutches and sit near the gangway overlooking the sea, still vexed by my conversation with Dr. Huxley. I was direct, unflinching, as callous as a mariner’s thumb. My only regret is that I didn’t deter him sooner.
Late afternoon the next day, the crew distributes new dresses to the prisoners. The casual frocks in various colors are a gift from Governor Markham to lift our spirits. The timing is questionable. Markham wants us to look our best for the matrimonial ceremony. He cares nothing for our morale.
All day, the women have been speculating about the ceremony. The noise of their prattling peaks as they slip into their new attire. Quinn selects a yellow frock in the smallest size, and though Vevina prefers to wear wine red, she settles for a brighter ruby-colored dress. She and Quinn change and then go to the main deck to comb their hair in the natural light.
Claret holds up a blue frock. “Everley, this one matches your eyes.”
“So?” I pose, swinging in my hammock.
“Don’t you want to change out of those men’s clothes and wear something clean?” she asks, her r’s rolling heavily.
“I don’t care what I look like.” A change of attire would be refreshing, but I won’t accept anything from Markham.
“Marionette is putting on airs again,” Claret mutters to Laverick.
While they dress in similar sea-green frocks, the Fox and the Cat whisper to each other. I am almost certain they are gossiping about me.
“How am I putting on airs?” I ask.
The Cat pounces with a swift response. “You keep a distance from everyone. No man in the seven worlds is good enough for you.”
Though I have slightly bluer blood than them, I am trapped in the same hold, sentenced for the same offenses, and like them, I am nervous about what’s to come. “I don’t think you’re beneath me. Is that really what you think?”
“I think you push people away,” Laverick answers gently. My lips draw down, and she explains. “My father built cannons for the realm. When I heard Papa was dead, killed in a black powder explosion, I couldn’t shed a tear. He would whip my two older brothers and me over the slightest disobedience. My brothers were worse to me. They would wait until I was asleep and then whack the bottoms of my feet with cannon fuses. Sometimes they hit me so hard they left cuts. I had no shoes, so I had to walk about barefoot. When I was nine, they tore up the bottoms of my feet so badly I bled for days. After that, I waited until Papa was away, then while my brothers were in the barn, I tied the door shut and ran.”
My siblings were nothing like Laverick’s. They were good and gentle, and yes, they often annoyed me, but I annoyed them just the same. “Where did you go?” I ask.
“I lived on the streets of Dorestand. The first thing I stole was a pair of shoes.”
“Then we met,” says Claret, nudging the Fox. “She and I tried to swipe the same coin pouch off a gentleman. I let Laverick have it and invited her to meet Vevina.”
“No one had ever been that kind to me,” Laverick says. “It took me a while, but I came to trust them. Claret and I have been partners since.”
Claret slides her arm through Laverick’s. Standing side by side in their identical sea-green dresses, their friendship seems invincible. I envy their closeness, even though it is precisely the type of relationship I must avoid.
“Everley!” Quinn scurries down the ladder. “It’s time!”
She swirls in her dress while I reluctantly get out of the hammock.
Everyone congregates on the main deck, the women separate from the men. The evening air is mild, the winds patiently pushing the sails while the sun lies down in the west. I dare not look in that direction, for there Dr. Huxley is standing.
Lieutenant Callahan enters my side vision. He has exchanged his work clothes for his officer’s uniform, the navy coat and slacks that remind me of Markham. The lieutenant gives his attention to Captain Dabney on the upper deck.
“Tonight we will unite four couples in matrimony,” says the captain.
Four. Only four crewmen accepted the governor’s boon. Sailors are a superstitious lot. Fears of Dagger Island must have discouraged them.
The captain reads from a parchment. “The first match is between crewman Cuthbert and prisoner Glaspey.”
He invites the couple to the upper deck to a round of applause. It takes some prodding from the women around her, but eventually Harlow goes. At the top of the stairs, Cuthbert tugs her against him for a kiss. She kicks his pegged leg, and he stumbles backward. Captain Dabney threatens to lock her in chains and then calls the next couple, a lower-ranking sailor and a round-faced young woman. He announces the third pair, more names I don’t recognize. My unease plateaus as the chance that I will be called lessens. Claret, Laverick, and Vevina smirk at each other. Their strategy of spending time with the lieutenant and captain to discourage the lower-ranking sailors appears to have worked.
“One couple remains,” says the captain. “Prisoner O’Shea was requested by Dr. Huxley . . . and Lieutenant Callahan.” Before his words breach my shock, he goes on. “As Callahan is the higher-ranking officer, I grant the lieutenant’s entreaty.”
Quinn is the first to clap, awash with glee. Others join in, but the ringing of the lass’s initial ovation drills into my bones. The lieutenant strides to the stairway and pauses for me. He can wait there until he dies. I hate his uniform, hate that he works for Markham, hate that I sympathized with him over the loss of his sister.
“Go on,” Quinn says, pushing me forward.
My knees bend and my legs move even though I am wholly numb. My gait starts off sluggish and picks up speed. I storm over to Callahan and hiss in his face, his expression undaunted. “What are you doing?”
“I promised your uncle I would protect you.”
“I don’t want your protection.”
Dr. Huxley stomps up and bumps his chest against Callahan’s arm aggressively. “How could you do this, Lieutenant? You know I requested her first.”
Callahan lays his palm on the surgeon’s front, and in one controlled movement, pushes him back. “I met Everley before we embarked from Dorestand. You should see how beautiful she looks when she smiles.”
When have I smiled at Callahan? I cannot recall, so he must be exaggerating.
Great Creator, save me from arrogant men.
Dr. Huxley flushes and marches to his sleeping quarters, slamming the door behind him.
“Lieutenant Callahan and Prisoner O’Shea,” the captain says, “join us.”
The lieutenant climbs the stairs ahead of me. A thousand emotions, the foremost fury, seethe in my veins. How dare Callahan usurp my future. I cannot pledge my life to another and set aside my hunt for Markham, or my ticker will haunt me an
d drive me into madness. That is if Father Time doesn’t collect on my debt first.
I smooth down Quinn’s hair, buying a moment to compose myself, and start up the stairs. Callahan watches me approach, my glare wielding the full blaze of the sun.
“Miss O’Shea,” he says, bowing.
I slap him.
He takes the hit without a wince of pain. “Is this how you show appreciation?”
“Don’t expect my gratitude in any form.”
Callahan grabs my waist and pulls me forward, his cheek against mine and his lips near my ear. “They must think I desire you or I’ll be plagued with questions.”
My face burns. He must establish why he, the Earl of Walsh, wishes to wed a convicted streetwalker, so he will let his crewmates assume he’s blind with lust. I should slap him again, but that would entail touching him, and he repulses me.
“Let them think what they wish,” I reply, pushing free. “I don’t care.”
RING!
Liar, my regulator says. Lieutenant Callahan hears it and frowns.
“The nuptials will now commence,” Captain Dabney proclaims. “We will begin with Lieutenant Callahan and Prisoner O’Shea.”
I’m Everley Donovan, my mind screams. It may be cowardly to beg, but I toss aside my pride. “I won’t wed him. Please don’t compel me.”
“You’re property of the queen,” replies the captain. “As sovereign of this ship, I may marry you to any man I wish. Be grateful it’s the lieutenant. He’s an honorable sailor.”
Honorable? I told him I didn’t want to marry, and he reduced me from the queen’s property to his. He and the captain should be pitched overboard and left to the sharks.
Two of the other chosen wives don’t appear to mind that they are exchanging one prison sentence for another. Harlow, however, could tear off Cuthbert’s peg leg and beat him with it. After her speech last night, I could gloat at her predicament, but our mutual reaction reminds me of her advice: You should benefit from the arrangement somehow.
Before the Broken Star (The Evermore Chronicles Book 1) Page 7