by Susan Ward
Merry sat as she was and fixed her anxious gaze on her sampler. Morgan’s tension was a palpable thing. Mr. Craven had brought the morning meal instead of Indy. Something definitely was amiss.
Morgan sat at the table and looked at her.
“Would you join me, Merry?”
It was an order, in spite of the slumberous softness of his voice. She dropped the pug, padded barefoot across the cabin, and sank into the chair across from him.
Morgan gave her a hard stare, then picked up his fork. “Now you can tell me what happened aboard my ship while I was ashore.”
The question was unexpected. “How would I know? I was locked in the cabin.”
His eyes seemed to sharpen. “Were you?”
She flushed. “Yes. In Mr. Craven’s care.”
The sudden flash in Morgan’s eyes made her instantly tense.
“Why was Tom Craven taking care of you?”
“I don’t know. I assure you the idea wasn’t mine.”
Everything aboard ship had changed after Indy’s offer to free her. She hadn’t seen the boy in days. She had fretted more than once over what Mr. Craven knew. Now, Morgan suspected…what? What did he know?
She felt the blush start to creep slowly downward from her cheeks. She focused on his plate.
“Look at me,” he said.
Merry lifted her chin, willing herself to make full contact with his eyes.
“I don’t grapple around in blind space,” he warned in cutting tones.
She stared at him and in her mind flashed the memory of Indy kissing. Something must have flashed in her eyes as well, because Morgan’s face hardened like stone.
“Whatever is done is done, Merry. The boy has lands. Enormous wealth. No matter his peculiarities, I assure you, there are few families who would not consider him a fine match.”
Frowning, Merry searched his face for some clue as to the direction this was going. Why was he telling her this?
When she didn’t speak, his eyes grew only more searching.
“If the boy harmed you, I can fix it, if you’ll let me. I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me.”
The harshness of his tone turned everything inside Merry instantly cold. It took her a moment to attach full meaning to his words. Had Morgan just offered to force the boy to marry her?
Staring at him, all her emotions began to boil like melting waxwork.
She sprang from her chair and whirled back to face him in fury.
“Are you offering me the boy as a husband? I am not your property to dispose of at whim. And what do you expect in payment for this generosity? Me, in your bed?”
Burning embers rose in Morgan’s black eyes.
“In case you need reminding, I don’t need to bargain, Little One. If I wanted you in my bed, you’d be there.”
His words hit her like a slap.
A pause.
Then she hissed, “Why don’t you toss me over the rail and be done with it? Any fate would be preferable to this miserable circumstance with you.”
It hardly seemed possible, but the burn in his eyes grew fierce, and the lines of his face hardened more. Rising from his chair, he crossed the cabin in two strides.
Morgan’s lips were closing in on hers. That effortlessly, she was in his arms. His mouth devoured her in a way that turned her to putty. It was a fiery kiss, scorching with anger, and hunger. His hands moved across her trembling flesh in a manner bold and without restraint.
Morgan had never kissed or touched her like this before. She could rally no defense again him. His hands molded her intimately against him, in manner that clothes did nothing to shield. The fire of his mouth was sending fire through Merry.
She felt herself being lifted into him, closer, closer. She was shocked by her own frantic willingness to let him mold her flesh to the hardness she felt in his breeches. That dull ache exploded as a raging inferno all through her. Her body desperately craved every drop of this man she could consume.
Her disobedient flesh wanted nothing more than to move against him. But, her temper sent her skittering out of his arms, and across the cabin, until a lambskin chair was between them.
Breathing raggedly, she screamed, “You and your smug games. If I were willing to trade any part of me, I wouldn’t be here. I would be on a ship bound for England now.”
Despair had risen on her hot face.
“You don’t know how it feels to be trapped and toyed with for weeks on end. You play with my heart and you play with my flesh. You are masterful at it, knowing exactly what you do to me with each move you make. I don’t even know who, or what you are. You are going to hurt me, if I don’t learn quickly. I want to go home where I belong, while I still have a right to belong there. I won’t belong there if I share your bed.”
“Merry…”
She cut him off desperately: “At least the boy made the offer of his bed in exchange for my freedom. At least his trade was honest. You want me for no other reason than your vanity, before you give me to another man.”
A hush fell. His eyes widened, as she had never seen them before. Curling her fingers over the top of the chair, she stared at him with anger-blurred eyes, trying not to show fear, for surely his reaction would come and it would be brutal.
At last into the crackling silence of the room, Morgan said, “My, a lot did happen here while I was ashore, now didn’t it? Craven did not know for certain if you’d been harmed. I am relieved to know that the boy didn’t harm you, Merry.”
Then, to Merry’s utter shock, he returned to his meal. This time when he spoke, his voice was an easy flow, so unlike him. “Come sit so we may talk about this sensibly.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said from behind the chair.
His glowing gaze swung quickly to her. He set down his coffee cup. His fingers formed a long curve beside it. “I imagine not. But, you will sit and we will talk.”
Merry wandered around the chair, trying to overcome the rioting emotions inside her, as she tried to figure out what Morgan was about now. Picking up the pug, she held the dog tightly to her as she studied the captain. She sat down, a careful distance from him, in the lambskin chair.
His voice, coming to her from across the cabin, was webbed with amusement. “You have a few things to learn about men, Little One. If you think that speech would have stopped me, or any man, if I were really interested in taking you to my bed.”
She stared at him. For some reason, that remark had the unpardonable power to hurt her. In plain words, he confirmed every anguished thought that had plagued her these past days. He did not want her.
It was why she was not in his bed.
It was why he did not harm her.
She was nothing to him, an object of indifference and insignificance. She could see the truth of that, too clearly, on his face.
Her heartbeat was tolling in rapid distress.
He began, “In this part of the world, it is extremely dangerous for a woman unprotected. So, I am more than mildly pleased that you are here, and not alone on a ship bound for Falmouth.”
Morgan stared at her. His stare seemed to bore into her as though to make sure she understood this. She nodded.
“So, the boy offered you your freedom if you would go to his bed?”
Now, at all moments, she felt embarrassed. Merry nodded.
“What is there between you and the boy that he should risk his safety to help you?”
She shook her head.
He studied her for a long time. Then, he asked, “You do understand the boy risked his life saving you in Cornwall?”
“I knew nothing of the boy before that night,” she replied truthfully.
Morgan rose from his chair.
“Whatever you are trying to hide, Merry, it is pointless,” he said with heavy meaning.
Merry’s eyes rounded, but she remained silence.
Morgan sighed. “The truth will come out in time, Little One. It always does.”
W
ith those words Morgan seemed to promptly dismiss her from his thoughts. He went to his desk and immediately turned his full attention on his work. An hour passed without a word from him.
Merry watched him, submerged in misery and confusion. He had no feelings for her, at all. His temper, his laughter, and even his passion were meaningless expressions of the man. He used them to manipulate her, and he did not even want her.
She stared at her fingers knotted in her lap. She was nothing to him and never would be. Indy was right. He would never care for her.
It was what she wanted, she told herself. However, Merry could barely hold back her tears until Morgan disappeared through the cabin door.
~~~
The last days of November gave way to December, as the Corinthian continued on its journey southward through the warm Gulf Stream.
The water was full of sea creatures, varieties too numerous for Merry to count. Sometimes, Shay would drag her topside to watch a streaming pool of green jellyfish or other tropical treasures he thought might amuse her. At night she could hear the song of the dolphins and whales, their voices strange and melancholy, as she lay in the darkness on the window bench. The Caribbean air was warm and heavy, and the world of the ship a familiar tune that vibrated in the humid air around her.
She’d been with Morgan three months. Their destination was unknown to her. Falmouth seemed so long ago. Bramble Hill was a dream. This was reality, and slowly this was all there was.
~~~
The afternoon Caribbean sun filled the cabin with an orange patina, as Merry jerked awake to the sound of a warning volley shot from the Corinthian’s canons. After pulling on a muslin gown of white with narrow stripes of coquelicot, she raced across the cabin and climbed through the companionway to find the ship in well-organized activity
Morgan was in command on the quarterdeck. The ship was running hard to the wind, in pursuit of a sleek privateer flying the colors of Great Britain.
She spied, against the port rail, Shay and Indy.
Reading her thoughts with alarming precision, Indy snapped in irritation, “Don’t launch into a patriotic defense of Britannia, Merry. I’m in no mood for it today. That’s an American schooner. She’s not British.”
Her eyes widened at his sharp tone. The boy had been out of temper with her since Morgan’s return. As it was, she ignored his curtness and looked to Shay.
More than a little skeptical, she asked, “How do you know that ship isn’t British?”
“Morgan wouldn’t chase if she were,” said Shay, settling back against the gunwale.
Studying the schooner, still not convinced that it wasn’t British, she asked, “But the flag…”
“It’s a trick, Merry,” Indy snapped continuing with his duties. “We’ve been playing cat and mouse for hours, now. If Morgan’s information is correct, that is not the British ship Arab. An impossibility, since the Arab was captured in the Chesapeake. She is the American schooner the Heritage. The warning volley was Morgan’s signal that it was time to talk.”
Merry frowned. “If that’s an American schooner, why should they wish to talk to Morgan?”
Shay pointed to the mast. It was then she noticed that above her proudly flapped the bright flare of color from the American flag.
“As of this morning, we are the Sea Breeze,” Shay announced.
Nothing remained around Merry that would warn that this was a pirate ship.
“And what happened to the Sea Breeze?”
“Captured near Bermuda. It’s not common knowledge, yet.” Watching her face, Indy added, “You can buy anything for a price, even information on a Baltimore letter-of-marque trader presently in the custody of the Royal Navy.”
In her early days on ship, Indy had warned Merry it wasn’t safe to ask too many questions of the crew. She was never to inquire as to why Morgan never took an English ship. She was never to inquire about anything she saw. As Indy put it, her continued safety and chance for freedom depended on never knowing too much about the activities of the Corinthian.
So why the sudden change?
Sharply assessing his face, she couldn’t imagine his recklessness in telling her things she wouldn’t dare ask. “Won’t Morgan be angry you told me all this?”
“No,” was the abrupt, non-informative answer.
She settled her chin in her hands and watched the boys continue in their duties.
An hour later the Arab was laying close off the leeward and had signaled it would talk. Morgan left the deck with Brandon Seton. Soon, Mr. Seton returned handsomely dressed as an American privateer captain. He climbed into a ship’s boat with a small crew that included Mr. Boniface. Tom Craven was in command, and Morgan had suddenly disappeared below decks.
By dusk wind, sea, and rain made it impossible to remain above deck. Merry was more than a little anxious to stay topside, since Mr. Seton had not returned, though many hours had passed. He’d disappeared on the Arab, not to be seen again.
By the time she left Indy and Shay, Merry was genuinely worried for Mr. Seton.
Entering the captain’s cabin, she found Morgan casually reclined on his bed, reading. For a broken part of a second she wondered if anyone would believe that the infamous pirate Morgan was not only literate, but also an irritatingly voracious reader, though, she found the voracious part particularly annoying in light of the dangers above.
He didn’t look up as the cabin door swung closed behind her, a little more loudly than she had intended. Resisting the impulse to snatch the book from him, she picked up the pug, dropped a kiss on its nose, and then settled, with bottom on heels, atop Morgan’s bed.
Of course, Morgan continued to read. Face to face with him, launching into a discussion about Mr. Seton went from seeming a little difficult in her mind, to something that was impossible. She was trying to organize her thoughts into a careful disclosure of her worries when Morgan’s low voice cut short the effort.
“While it pleases me the frequency you climb atop my bed, Little One, I should point out, it does me no good that you never climb within it.” Morgan gave her a smile, closed the book, and then fixed his eyes upon her. “There, you have my full attention. Get on with it, Little One. Since I know I will have no peace with my book until you are heard.”
Arming her nerves, she said, “I wish to speak to you about Mr. Seton.”
It was a clumsy opening, but it was the best she could manage.
Morgan’s interest in her vanished at once, and he retrieved his book. “Is that what’s got you so riled, My Dear? I thought it was something important. Can it be that you think Mr. Seton is in danger, and you’ve come to plead for his rescue? If you are open to suggestions, I know exactly how I would like you to plead.”
Cherry-spot blushes burned her cheekbones. Merry was just angry enough to snatch the book from his hand and throw it on the floor.
She furiously stammered, “Oh, for once will you stop, Varian. You can’t imagine how infuriating your Morgan dramas are, at times. You don’t have to resort to wickedness every time you wish not to answer my questions. It doesn’t shock me any longer, so you might as well stop it. I’m worried about Mr. Seton. He went below deck on the Arab and has not been seen since. How can you sit there calmly reading with an enemy ship off the lee, and a member of your crew being held hostage?”
Surprise flashed in Morgan’s eyes, then was quickly concealed. “Interesting,” he said in a civil way, as his gaze combed her face. Then, lazily looking about for the book she’d tossed he added, “There is no need for your concern, Merry.”
Frustrated, Merry retrieved the book and handed it back to him. “How can you be so certain he’s not in danger?”
With a disquieting grin, Morgan said, “Do you know how Brandon came to be with me? He was a rising star in the American War Department, with an unfortunate inclination to sell to the English the departure schedules and routes of American ships. I admit to having purchased information from him, a time or two, myself. He joined my
crew one step ahead of the hangman. Whatever his predicament, Brandon is more than capable to manage it on his own. Traitors are remarkably resourceful. He has proven most valuable at getting me what I want, without having to engage in battle.”
She shook her head in abstract disbelief. “I don’t believe you. Mr. Seton would not be a traitor.”
Those clever black eyes brightened at once as his smile took on an edge. “No?”
“No.”
There was a short laugh, an arched brow.
Merry ignored the taunt and began, “As I was saying—”
She never got a chance to finish. With a deceptive grace of movement, Morgan leaned into her to claim her lips. She tried desperately to remain unaffected by his touch. All she got for the effort was carefully placed kisses on her eyelids, which had drifted closed without her knowing it, before his lips moved lower, pressing his mouth to hers, spreading the stiff line until her lips slowly softened to the urging sweetness of his probing kiss.
When he stopped, Merry’s eyes flew open to find Morgan smiling at her. “Now, go away. You are irritating me.”
Within a half second, Morgan was reading again.
She crossed her arms. Clinging, hopelessly, to some remnant of dignity, Merry said, “I wish you’d stop playing this game with me. We both know that your flirtations are nonsense.”
His vivid black eyes sparkled. “Nonsense? You consider a kiss from me nonsense?”
“Yes. I don’t even know why you play this game with me.”
Morgan pinched her chin and said, “Economy of effort, I suppose. I can silence you with a single act that gives me pleasure.”
The only response Merry could manage to that was to make a face at him, before she picked up the pug that was now whimpering for Morgan’s attention. She studied the captain for awhile, then she climbed from the bed, and began to fidget around the cabin.
She was restless, restless of body and restless of mind. She couldn’t completely convince herself that worry for Mr. Seton was its cause. She had felt this unrest for weeks now.
She fiddled with the instruments on his desk. She looked at Morgan. She searched the vast horizon of blue out the stern windows. She looked at Morgan. How did men survive the world of sea? She dropped heavily into his chair. He gave her no notice and continued to read.