by Susan Ward
~~~
The next morning Merry came awake in agonized slowness. Her head was pounding. She was in Morgan’s bed. She had a faint memory of him holding her last night, as she got sick in his arms.
He had promised she’d feel better, if she vomited. He had been wrong. She did not feel better today. She felt worse. Her eyes smarted from the light in the cabin, her entire body ached, and she could not recall a single thing after she had started to toss her stomach into the bowl. She did not remember falling asleep or being put to rest in Morgan’s bed.
Lifting up the blankets, she was shocked to find herself naked under the bedding. She wondered when that had happened and why Morgan had undressed her. Finding her discarded shirt beside the bed, the foul stench flooding her nose gave her the answer. She must have missed the bowl a time or two.
She couldn’t imagine what Morgan’s temperament would be today. It was no less unsettling to note, she’d gotten drunk for the first time in her life. Covering her face with the burgundy coverlet she allowed herself a good cry. She was still head under blankets when the cabin door opened.
Morgan said, “God love us all, the girl is still alive. Feeling better this morning, my dear? Or should I say afternoon?”
He said it in a way that suggested he knew she didn’t. Peeking out from beneath the covers, she sent him glare, then wished she hadn’t. Mr. Craven was with him. The old man gave her a harsh stare as he settled at Morgan’s table.
Morgan poured a short pull of whiskey into a glass and said over his shoulder to his quartermaster, “We’ll make a pirate out of the wench yet, eh Tom? Especially if you continue to be so careless in your command of my ship while I’m gone. You should be damn glad all she’s suffering today is a touch of hangover. The lads had her three sheets to the wind. If she’d been devalued, it would be your head.”
Merry didn’t know what that last comment meant, but Morgan was now standing over her, hand outstretched, glass in hand.
“Drink. It will make you feel better.”
The last thing Merry wanted was more alcohol. She debated the wisdom of his advice since it was alcohol that created her current misery, but Morgan’s mood did not pass with the night. Obedience seemed her wisest course, at present.
Tom watched as the girl took the glass, swallowed, and then coughed as the fiery liquid slid down her throat. Morgan stood above her patiently waiting for the return of the glass.
From the look of her expression, Tom was certain the girl had no idea how furious the captain was, or the cause of it. The girl was fast becoming a danger to them all.
He shifted his gaze back to the captain.
Tom asked, “Did you learn anything useful from Hancock?”
Morgan shrugged and poured a drink. “The good Commodore is as much a bore as ever. Though, I admit the amenities he travels with are more accommodating than my own, at present.”
Merry missed the pointed smile he bent at her with that comment.
Her thoughts were too busy spinning. Commodore Hancock? Merry eyes fixed wide on Morgan. She wondered why Morgan let slip, in her hearing, such a shocking tidbit about himself. Hancock was a revered American naval hero, charged with protecting the fledgling country’s novice fleet, and was often disparaged in Britain for his tactics. A ruthless tactician and brutal butcher, he’d sent more English sailors to their graves than any other captain of the American forces.
What was Morgan doing with a high-ranking, much despised, officer of the American fleet?
“The Americans haven’t a notion on how to proceed with this war, anymore, than they have a notion on how to proceed with the politics,” Morgan said dryly, sinking his long limbs into a chair. “Though what do you expect from a country of tradesmen and farmers? It’s a wonder they haven’t fallen under British rule, already. Though, the British are stupid as well. They can’t capitalize off an opportunity when it’s handed to them.”
Noting Merry’s interest, Morgan’s gaze shifted from the window, focused on her, and his eyes began to sparkle.
“War often forges the strangest alliances, Little One. I have been known to sell information to the Americans, from time to time. The British as well. My patriotism can be bought for a price.”
Morgan smiled and shifted his gaze back to Tom. The older man frowned and took a long pull from his drink.
“Then there is no possibility of an expedited peace accord?” said Mr. Craven.
“No. If war didn’t provide benefits, I would almost feel sorry for the Americans. We should not have to worry about peace any time soon,” Morgan said, in slightly harsh way. He sat quietly, staring out the window for a long while.
For the life of her, Merry couldn’t make reason of his expression. There was almost a look of sadness on his face, though she was certain she was reading too much into the expression.
Whatever Morgan was, he was not a patriot of any country, but the most ruthless type of opportunist. War meant opportunity to him, though what opportunities she didn’t know for sure. Only that he somehow profited from the chaos of the world. It was a repulsive existence, in all ways.
A knock on the cabin door pulled them all from their thoughts. It was Mr. Seton. He didn’t look, at all well, standing in the frame of the doorway.
Morgan didn’t look at his officer. “I’m assuming you’ve finished?”
“Every inch of the gun deck.”
Morgan smiled darkly. “Do it again.”
When the door closed behind Mr. Seton, Tom Craven leaned forward in his chair and asked, “How long are you going to keep this up? He’s been at it all night.”
“Until he learns to follow an order, or is too exhausted to follow anything else.” Morgan refilled his glass. “It’s a good thing he is too pretty to flog.” His eyes shifted to Merry. “Don’t you think Mr. Seton is too pretty to flog, Little One? It is a good thing you are both too young and pretty to flog.”
~~~
The rain came at dawn in lively little drops that pulled Merry pleasantly from sleep. As her senses gradually stirred, she stretched in the warm cocoon of her blankets, not bothering to lift her head from the pillow. The ship seemed to manage only a gentle sway beneath her. She became aware at once that it was uncommonly quiet.
She realized they had dropped anchor overnight. She could feel the change in the ship’s motion beneath her, a gently purring animal instead of a groaning and lurching beast. Sitting up, the view through the stern windows brought her instantly awake. They were in the center of a busy harbor packed with ships.
A low voice, “In case you were wondering, that is the Great Sound you are staring at.”
Merry turned to find Morgan at his desk, pouring over a sheet of figures, a candle assisting the pale light of dawn. She had not seen him for three days. She’d been locked below in the cabin. He had stayed away. When she’d asked Indy where he had slept, he’d given her one of those harshly sardonic looks and left her.
Feeling painfully awkward in his presence, not knowing why, she curled into a tight ball, pulling the blankets protectively around her, hoping he’d leave the cabin quickly.
Morgan didn’t look up. “And yes, Little One, that is the Royal Navy on all sides of us. Imagine the advantage you have over me, now that I am surrounded by the Royal Navy. Lay back and contemplate escape plots. It’s early yet.”
Ignoring the subtle taunt in Morgan’s voice, she said in a stunned way, “We are in Bermuda. It is the base for the North American Station, where the Admiralty coordinates the blockade and is preparing the invasion force for America. Why are we in Bermuda?”
That made Morgan sit back and give her a hard stare. “Ah, geography and military lessons not needed. You do have the oddest assortment of knowledge, for a girl your age.”
His words, though amused, were dismissive. Merry got to her feet and padded across the cabin until she reached his desk. She took his coffee and curled in a chair. “Why haven’t they tried to blow us out of the water? The bounty on the Co
rinthian must be—”
“Enormous.” He went to dump blotting grit from the document he’d just finished into an ornate silver sandbox, and saw that she’d spilled coffee there. He arched a brow, fixing his gaze on the cup in her hand. “I wasn’t finished with that.”
Merry ignored his chide and asked, “So why haven’t they attacked?”
“We went through a metamorphosis before we came in range of the islands,” was the calm answer. “Why do you think I kept you locked below decks for two days? I can’t let you learn all my secrets that easily.”
“Even your secrets are a trick, so what would be the good of learning them?”
“How about for the simple enjoyment of it?”
Fighting her fast rising reaction to that, she did a foolish show of trying to arrange her curls with fingers as to present an air of un-shocked composure. She was more than mildly proud she managed to meet him stare for stare, before he turned his unsettling focus from her. He set down the page in his hand, and gathered together the documents on his desk before he crossed to his bed to shove them into a leather case.
Morgan was always a striking figure, but today he looked different to Merry. He was wearing the intricate white cravat and meticulously tailored trousers that were the costume of the men of her class. While he still looked dangerous and beguiling in his dark splendor, Merry realized he was as flawless in his guise as a British nobleman as he was in the more dramatic presentations of a pirate.
Brow puckering in a frown, she noted that not only his ship had gone through a metamorphosis during her hours locked into the cabin, so had the man. It was startling how effortlessly Morgan could be whatever he wanted it to be. She wondered if it was the result such flawless good looks, or something more.
Biting her lower lip, she asked, “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I have business ashore, Little One. I should be gone two, maybe three days.” His black eyes lifted and began to shimmer. “Imagine the mischief you can create without me near.”
Near was said in a voice almost caressing. Merry knew it was a deliberate attempt to cut off her questions. Wicked and sensual, it was a manipulation that flashed to rattle her, and often times to divert her. She was pleased with herself that she was neither. Persisting, “What manner of business could a notorious pirate possibly have in Bermuda?”
“I am more a man of commerce than anything else, Little One,” Morgan told her, still focused on his task and not looking up. “Do you really view the world in such shades of black and white? I have honest enterprises and dishonest pursuits. I would say that makes me a rather commonplace man.”
Commonplace? Morgan was not. Dishonest pursuits. She didn’t want to speculate on the meaning of those words. The natural implication was not one that settled on Merry pleasantly.
“I suppose the fact you are in the middle of a war, with a price on your head, is only a trifling interference in your dishonest pursuits.”
“No, my honest enterprises,” he corrected. “War is only an annoyance if one does not understand the rules to get around it. Knowing what you need, where you need it and what is available is the necessity to survival for honest and dishonest men alike. Unfortunately, for the good politicians in Washington and London, the world is full of greedy men.”
“I will have no illusions left at all, after you,” Merry countered.
“We can only hope,” he said with deliberate wickedness, watching her clamp her mouth shut, jerking her pink face away.
He watched as she picked up the dog and allowed it to lap at the remains in his cup. He killed a smile, and arched a brow. She ignored him.
Morgan looked at the document before him and tried to focus back on his task. As he reached for his quill, he studied her, imagining her garbed in something more appropriate, something delicate and filmy like this beautiful girl. Yes, clothes, he must get Merry clothes while ashore.
Morgan was nearly finished in his preparations to depart when Indy came through the cabin door with Merry’s breakfast in hand. As Morgan fastened close his case on the bed, the boy noiselessly went through the chore of setting out Merry’s plate.
The silence between them carried a heavy strain. The tension in the air reminded her of that first night when Indy had brought her aboard ship. She stared at the men, wondering at their strange relationship. The strangeness that, often times, filled the cabin in the heavy silence that flowed between them. Today, it was nearly suffocating.
“I should be no more than three days,” Morgan remarked.
Silence.
Finally, Indy said, “Where can I find you if you are needed?”
Morgan’s eyes turned into black embers. The boy knew, damn well, where he’d be.
He said, “Tom has already figured out the bribes for the customs officials. Move the cargo to the Tempest, as soon as possible, pitiful prize though that French schooner was. Keep a heavy guard on ship, but every man is to have shore leave.” A pause, and then, black eyes mocking, he stated, “Except you.”
Indy swung around and faced the captain with hard, glowing eyes. “And what am I to do about the girl? Am I to take care of her in your stead, as well?”
The silence between them grew nasty and long.
When at last he spoke, Morgan stated blandly, “I expect the girl to be here upon my return, well cared for, and intact. It will be your head if she is neither.”
The boy was clearly not pleased. More silence.
“If you have anything more to say to me, lad, I suggest you say it while I’m walking,” said Morgan evenly.
He picked up his case and left without a word to Merry.
Staring at the door with glittering eyes, the boy finally moved with his panther-like quickness after the captain.
Livid with frustration, Indy snapped out, “I want you to release her. You arrogant, son of the devil, let her go home now, while she still can.”
Morgan stopped, the smile surfacing took on a hard edge. “What is wrong with you? I can’t release her in Bermuda. Are you so consumed by your illogical adolescent fits over the girl, that you cannot reason out you are asking for what may, very well, cause her the greatest harm. The world is not a safe place for a woman without protection. She is far safer where she is.”
“Protection?” Indy hissed in a voice that was biting. “Is that what you call it, in your mind, this game you play with her? Your protection?”
“I don’t call it anything. I’ve seen to her comfort and I’ve left her untouched. A rather good stroke of fortune, considering your intent when you brought her to me.”
“My intent was not to see her trapped in a prolonged state of suffering.”
“If you’ve a mind to rummage around in moral incongruities, perhaps we should start with yours. We might possibly be able to remedy what’s troubling you, if you would tell me why you brought her here in the first place.”
“You could release her simply because I asked you to,” said Indy fiercely.
The black eyes above Indy became carefully remote.
“Failure, always failure. That is the last thing you have left me free to do. I can’t let her go now, not for your sake, not as things stand. There is more than your wellbeing involved in this. Surely, you see that.”
“How cleverly you’ve learned to lie to yourself. We should all be so blessed and talented.”
Morgan’s expression hardened in unpleasant quickness.
“Do with Merry as you will. I’m going ashore, where I want a meal and to have a woman,” Morgan snapped through gritted teeth, continuing on his way.
When Indy stepped back into the cabin, he found Merry slumped against the wall beside the open door. He offered her his hand and she slapped it away.
“Did you think I didn’t know why he was going ashore?” Her hands moved with an anxious flutter to swipe at her cheeks. There were tears there. “You can be a cruel boy sometimes. Do you know that?”
To that, all Indy said was, “Whatever escape plo
ts you hatch, please, Merry, don’t let them involve fire. You are but a breath away from a powder magazine that could blow us all to Halifax. Fire on a ship is an unimaginable hell.”
She looked at the scars on Indy’s hands and arms. “I know you think I’m foolish, but I know that there is no way off this ship, unless he lets me go.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want harm to come to you.”
“And will he let me go?”
“No, Merry. Not ever.”
Merry digested that in silence. “What are the chances if I go to his bed now, he will return me to Falmouth?”
“Nonexistent.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
All the crew of the Corinthian, not serving their trick, had gone to shore. Through the locked cabin door echoed their bawdy songs. Sober they left. Drunk they returned.
Indy had chosen to pass the long hours of the night inside the captain’s cabin with Merry.
They laid on Morgan’s bed, feet pressed against polished wood, making shadow puppets against the wall. She’d been quiet and pensive all day. Something about her expression warned that he didn’t want to hear the matters that, so deeply, claimed her.
In the dark of the night, when the ship had gone quiet, she asked, “Does he love her?”
The young pirate stared at her.
“Who are you talking about, Merry?”
“His mistress. Is Morgan in love with his French widow ashore?”
Startled, Indy sat up, staring at her fiercely. “Who the hell told you about Louisa?”
Merry looked away. “I heard Mr. Seton and Mr. Craven talking in the passageway.”
Indy laid back against the bed. “No, Merry. He does not love her.”
Merry frowned. “If he does not care for her, why does he have her in keeping?”
“Christ, Merry. Do you really understand so little about men?”
She blushed, but continued to stare.
Through gritted teeth, he said, “Convenience.”
“How do I get Morgan to release me?”