Ramon stood in the doorway. In his hand was a navy colt revolver. He did not point it at the federal officer, but the threat was there. His eyes were black as obsidian as his glance swept the cabin, resting for an instant on Lorna's pale face, noting the neat bunk, coming to rest on the man who stood before him.
"You have a choice," he said, his voice soft, "you can surrender or you can play the hero. Under the circumstances, my friend, need I say which I would prefer?"
The lieutenant set the hatbox aside, straightening to his full height. His voice colorless, he said, "I take it there has been a change in the status of the ship."
"Most assuredly."
"The men?"
"There are a few broken heads among them, but they will hardly notice the pain, considering the way they have been downing the liquor stores carelessly left out where they could get to them."
"You realize that you will be hunted down as a pirate after this?"
Ramon shrugged. "What odds? As long as I'm being shelled there might as well be a good reason. But enough. Will you travel to Wilmington with us or will you end it here?"
The words they threw at each other could mean only one thing. Ramon and his crew had retaken the Lorelei. Lorna rose to her feet, moving to his side. She reached to place her hand on his arm before turning toward the man in the center of the room.
"Lieutenant, can you swim?"
"Passably," he answered, his voice stiff, but a sudden stillness on his features.
She looked back to Ramon. "Let him go."
"What?" He scowled down at her.
"I am asking you to let this man go. He…he could have made these past hours terrible to endure, but he did not. I feel I owe him this much."
He stared at her, weighing the request, giving it full attention even in the midst of the crisis he held so tenuously under control. She thought she saw an easing of the leashed rage that gripped him as his gaze moved over the white oval of her face. Abruptly, he nodded.
They mounted to the deck. The ship was moving, idling along, circling the length of the gutted ship that had caused her to ground, seeking open water. Out on the sea could be seen the long boat with the shape of the fleet commander standing in the prow, returning to the ship he thought was going to carry his flag. Behind them, in the wheelhouse, Slick was at the helm with only the pilot beside him. There was no one else in sight. They moved farther aft, away from the slowly turning paddle wheel. The lieutenant pulled off his boots and uniform jacket, and stripped out of his shirt. Ignoring Ramon, he turned then to Lorna.
He took her hand. "My most fervent thanks," he said, "and again, my apologies."
"Accepted, for the second; for the first, there is no need."
"There is, you know, and I won't forget it."
His hazel eyes steady, he held her gaze, then raised her hand to his lips. Releasing it, he stepped back.
"Take care," she said.
He nodded, turned, and vaulted to the railing. He stood poised for an instant, then dived, hitting the water with a clean splash. In a few seconds, they saw him in the waves, his arms pulling strongly, heading toward the long boat.
"Satisfied?" Ramon asked, his voice hard.
"Yes, thank you."
"Save your thanks; it was no gift."
"I don't understand."
"It requires payment. I will include it in the price of passage."
There was in his dark eyes the promise of a reckoning and something more, a doubt so foreign to him that it cast a dark shadow over his bronze features. Now was not the time to explore it, however.
Turning from her, he strode toward the wheelhouse. In a moment, his voice rang out in an order that was passed down the speaking tube to the engine room. The paddle wheels began to slap the water with their swift beat, kicking up foam and spume. For an endless stretch of time, the federals seemed not to notice; then came the whine of a shell. It fell short, sending up a geyser where they had been seconds before. It exploded as it hit the water, and the concussion made the ship buck as if it had been kicked in the backside. Lorna went to her knees, clinging to the railing, but not before she had seen the long boat bearing Captain Winslow dancing on the thrown up waves, nearly turning end on end. The fleet commander was gesticulating, berating a very wet lieutenant on the seat beside him, oblivious of the danger. Another gun roared, and the shell passed overhead; then, there were no more.
The federal gunboats had ceased firing for fear of endangering the life of their commanding officer. As the reason for their forbearance reached Lorna, she got to her feet once more, moving forward toward the prow of the ship. Holding to the rail, she turned her back on the Union fleet. Narrowing her eyes against the wind, she swung to look toward Wilmington.
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Chapter 14
Half-hidden behind the tender green of the foliage of oaks and maples and an occasional jack pine, the port town of Wilmington climbed the hill above the waterfront. A roof here, a wall there, could be glimpsed through the thick mantle, along with the Gothic spires of churches and the square shapes of chimneys. High on the rise could be seen a classic facade of Corinthian columns that was pointed out to Lorna as the town hall. Near the waterfront was the squat and dingy building of the customhouse, while beyond it loomed the tower set with columns that marked the town marketplace, which was said to house a full-scale theater. Compared to Nassau, it seemed a peaceful and quiet place, far removed from war. Still, there was a certain amount of bustle around the dock area where the blockade runners were being unloaded and their cargoes shuffled into warehouses.
The Lorelei had landed at Fort Fisher. There they found the Bonny Girl waiting. As Ramon and Lorna stepped onto the sand, Peter had been there to embrace them both. In his shock at finding Lorna had been on the ship, his guilt at being the cause of their discovery by the blockaders, and his relief at their escape, he was almost incoherent. The story was soon told, however, Ramon brushing past the reason for Lorna's presence.
Regardless, Peter had not missed his possessive arm about her, or the challenge in his friend's eyes. He had glanced once at Lorna, then looked away, his face pale.
In company with the fort commandant, Colonel Lamb, they had broken out champagne to celebrate. All officers and crews were included in the toasting, especially Cupid, who, on Ramon's orders, had seen to it that the liquor stores were conveniently open to tempt the federal boarding party of marines, even including a keg of rum sitting unattended in the galley. Excluded were the marines themselves, who were marched from the hold and given into the custody of Colonel Lamb.
Afterward, Peter had gone on, while Ramon, with Slick and Chris, inspected the ship for damage, making those repairs necessary, leaving the rest until they had better access to materials in port. By mid-morning, they had passed the inspection against quarantine for yellow fever and other tropical diseases and been given their pratique, taken on a local pilot to guide them through the unbuoyed channel of the Cape Fear, and were steaming for Wilmington. Two miles below the town, they had reached the Dram Tree, an ancient cypress hung with moss standing in the river. As they passed, they had drunk a salute in recognition of a safe voyage, a tradition not to be flouted.
There were four blockade runners in already, too many to be unloaded at the limited docking area. The Lorelei dropped anchor and sat waiting her turn. Lorna stood on deck, watching the activity on the waterfront, the plying back and forth of the Market Street ferry, a flatboat operated by sweeps; the activity around a shipbuilding yard some distance away; the graceful passage now and then of a sloop belonging to one of the many plantation houses they had passed on their journey upriver. She lifted her face to the mild river breeze and warm noonday sun, listening to the calls of the birds in the trees that masked the town, aware of an intense joy in being alive after the dangers of the night.
After a time, she was joined by the other passengers. They carried on a desultory conversation as the gentlemen tried to decide if they shoul
d ask to be taken ashore or wait until the ship could run in and lower her gangplank. Among them was the Scotsman who, though he wore a bandage wrapped around his head and carried his arm in a sling of black silk, was as anxious as any to get into town to transact his business.
Also, lying at anchor was the Bonny Girl. Lorna waved to Peter once as, like Ramon, he attended to the details of the making ready to go ashore. He had lifted a hand in return, then swung away in a sudden show of efficiency.
The men were not the only ones with matters to attend to in town. The thought of the duty she had accepted rested heavily on Lorna. The sooner she had discharged it, the easier she would feel. It would be as well if she were ready to find the place and the person to whom she must pass on the dispatches as soon as they were free to go ashore. At the thought, she straightened from the rail. Murmuring her excuses, holding her shawl close around her in the breeze, she went below.
She closed the cabin door carefully behind her, then looked around her. Cupid had been in to set the place to rights, it appeared. The chairs were in their places by the table; the lamps had been taken from their gimbals, polished, and refilled, the remains of the combination breakfast and luncheon she had eaten alone while Ramon remained on deck had been removed. The hatboxes had also been collected and stacked against the wall, out of the way. She moved toward them, frowning as she tried to decide which one held the black bonnet in which she had hidden the dispatches.
The oilskin-wrapped packet was in the seventh box she picked up. The contents of the other six were strewn on the floor around her, the bonnets lying in drifts of tissue paper, by the time she found it. With the packet in one hand, she stuffed the black bonnet in which she had hidden it back into its box, and had begun to push paper around it when the door swung open. She made a convulsive movement, as if she would thrust the packet out of sight, then was still as she realized it was too late.
Ramon did not speak, but closed the door behind him and came toward her. His face was bleak, as he took the packet from her hand, untied the oilskin, and unfolded the papers it contained. His perusal was swift, cursory. When he spoke, the words were like a lash.
"What in God's holy name do you mean by this piece of folly?"
She drew herself up, lifting her chin. "I meant to aid my country. What else?"
"Do you realize how close you came to paying the full price for it?"
"I should, I think, since I was the one who was subjected to search in this very cabin!"
"A trial that could have been avoided if you had had the sense to decline acting like a heroine in a melodrama."
The sarcasm in his voice was a severe test of her temper; still, she clung to it. "I could not refuse to complete Sara Morgan's mission for her. It is important, vitally important, that these dispatches reach President Davis."
"Someone, anyone, else could have taken them. There was no need for you to run the risk."
"There was every need! And why should I not? As a woman, I should have been immune from search, and would have been if there had not been some advance warning of my coming. How it became known, I can't imagine, but-"
"The wallpaper sprouts ears in places like Nassau, and signals are easily flashed to the frigates patrolling the coast. A federal ship setting a course dead on Wilmington, without having to worry about being chased and shelled, could reach the blockade fleet at the mouth of the river ahead of us. No, the how is plain enough; it's the why that sticks in my gullet. You thought it would be a lark, didn't you? You thought it would be so easy to dupe me into taking you with me. And it was, wasn't it? Mon Dieu, how easy I made it for you!"
"No, it…it wasn't like that."
He paid no attention to her words or the plea in her wide gray eyes. "What I don't understand is why it was necessary for you to let me believe you came for my sake. You could have told me the truth and saved yourself a great deal of trouble. You might even have been able to sleep alone, instead of trading your favors like a whore for my goodwill."
"I was told that, if you knew, it would mean your hanging if the dispatches were discovered," she said, her voice hard, her gaze on his face, which was dark with rage and passion.
"How laudable, so unselfish," he jeered. "Do you think they would have believed for a single instant that I did not know the woman who shared my cabin was a courier?"
"It's true, I tell you. As for the sharing of your cabin, I didn't think how it would look. I never meant to-"
"Now, we come to the truth, do we? You never intended to come to me. You thought you could sneak on board and stay hidden all the way here, I suppose?"
"I didn't think at all! There was no time!" she said, her voice rising.
He threw the packet onto the bunk and caught her arms, dragging her against him. "I thought you came because you felt the same pull of obsession for me I feel when I look at you, because you couldn't stay away, any more than I can stay away from you. That makes me a fine fool, doesn't it?"
"No, Ramon, listen to me-"
"Well, as long as you're laughing, add this to it," he grated, his eyes dark with derision. "Even knowing what you have done, the one thing I feel like doing at this moment is to take you to bed and make love to you until you beg me to stop."
"Love?" She infused scorn into her voice despite the trembling that ran through her. "You only want to punish me."
"You think so? Either way, I want to feel you naked and writhing under me, to watch your face while I am inside you, to see you lose control."
She stared at him, trying to ignore the tide of color that rose to her hairline. "What would that solve?"
"Nothing. Isn't it a good thing that there is nothing to be solved, that you have brought your dispatches through and we are safe in Wilmington, that it doesn't matter any more what I think or feel, only what I want?"
She watched as if mesmerized as, with his black eyes burning into hers, he lowered his head to take her lips. At the last moment, she turned her head. His mouth seared her cheek, moving to the curve of her neck. "You…you are angry with me," she said with a catch in her voice, "and I don't blame you, but you can't do this."
"Who will stop me?"
"I…I'll fight you."
His voice soft, his breath warm just beneath her ear, he said, "Is that what you did while you were down here with the naval lieutenant?"
She jerked away so violently that she broke his grasp, but he was upon her in an instant, catching her shoulders. She brought her hands up to throw off his grasp, but he swung her around, sending hatboxes flying as he thrust her against the wall and pinned her there with his body. She suppressed a cry.
"I have never felt such cold fear in my life as when he was sent below with you with the order he was given. He had carte blanche to treat you as he saw fit, even encouragement to do it. I wasn't close enough to overhear what passed between him and his commanding officer when he returned the first time, but I made a point of being there for the second. "Nothing discovered in the body search or internal examination, sir," was his report, and he nearly died for those words. He would have, if Slick and Chris and Frazier had not been close enough to keep me from going for his throat."
The images his words evoked filled her with distress, but she would not let him see. "How can you blame me?"
"Oh, I didn't, not until I came down here and found the two of you chatting and smiling, as cozy as two old maids at a tea party."
There were shafts of gold in the depths of his eyes, and his lashes were tangled from the wind. The lines radiating toward his temples were tight with strain. In sudden discovery, she said, "You were jealous."
"Why not? I'm not in the habit of sharing my women."
The arrogance of his tone, the neat way he had sidestepped her accusation, sent anger flaring through her. "I'm not one of your women!"
"You are for now, and until we get back to Nassau if you expect to make the return in the Lorelei. But, you haven't answered my question: What happened between you and the lieutenant?"
"Nothing," she snapped. "Less than has happened between us since you came barging in here."
"Tell me about it." The command was harsh, permitting no denial.
She obeyed, stressing the sensitivity of the federal officer, his concern for her modesty, and his honorable conduct. Some of the tension left him, but even through her full skirts she could sense the heat of his need, sense the violence that drove him.
"You are sure? You would not change the facts out of embarrassment-or fear?"
I would not! Why should I be afraid of you or care what you think?"
A grim smile crossed his face at her defiance. "It would be as well if you could bring yourself to both."
She did not dignify that comment with an answer. Staring him straight in the eyes, she asked, "If you were so certain he had mistreated me, why did you let him go?"
"You asked it so prettily, and it was a means of being rid of him-there always being the chance that you enjoyed his…treatment. Then, there was the strong possibility that he would drown."
She drew a swift breath, her gray eyes silvery with rage. "Just because I once let you make love to me without screaming or falling away in a dead faint doesn't mean I accept the same from any man!"
"No? Why should I consider myself special?"
"You know why. You know-" She couldn't speak past the sudden hurtful tightness in her throat, the burgeoning of pain that he could doubt her, that it was necessary to defend herself to him.
His gaze dropped to her lips, moist and parted, tremulous at the corners. "Yes," he said, his voice deep, threaded with weariness, "I know."
He lowered his head, taking her mouth, molding it to the hard contours of his own, thrusting past her defenses to a deep and complete possession. His hand moved downward to brush the firm roundness of her breast beneath the muslin of her bodice, outlining it, testing its soft resilience before closing his hand upon it. The pressure of his kiss lessened. His mouth moved upon hers, questing, urging a response. By degrees, as if compelled, she gave it. She spread her hands upon the rough cloth of his uniform jacket, sliding them upward, touching the strong column of his neck with her fingertips as she pressed herself against him.
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