"Outrun them?!" she yelled at her mother. "Is this possible? My own father is turning tail? What has happened to simple bravery?!"
Hanging above, a yardarm braced between his chest and arms, Ryan looked down and watched Lindsay enacting an all-too-familiar drama on the gun deck. Hard droplets of rain began to pelt his face as he sighed and reached for the ratlines. He didn't need to hear what she was saying; the sight of her shouting and pointing in outrage was enough.
"Lindsay!" Devon was exclaiming. "What's come over you?"
"I want to see justice done! I'm tired of watching Americans roll over like befuddled dogs and simply give up without a fight!" Spinning around, she started toward the quarterdeck. "I'm going to talk to Papa!"
A hand caught Lindsay's shirt from behind, halting her progress. "I'd advise against that," Ryan said firmly.
The sound of that voice only increased her fury. Whirling, she challenged, "You have never had any right to dictate to me, Captain Coleraine, especially not here, on my family's ship in the presence of my parents! I am an adult, and demand that you treat me as such!" She tried to wrest her shirttail from his grasp. "Let go!"
"Not if you're going to storm the quarterdeck and deliver an ill-timed harangue to the captain!"
Lindsay looked imploringly to her mother. "Will you please tell this—this person to leave me alone? He has persisted in giving me orders and manhandling me since the day we met. Is it not plain to you why I detest him?"
The sight of her offspring, wet and wild-eyed amidst the melee on deck, inspired a strong mixture of emotions in Devon. It was as if she were looking at a stranger, for Lindsay had never behaved thus in the past, and yet, at the same time, it seemed that she was seeing herself thirty years earlier. The breeches, the ship, the tangled mass of golden-rose curls, and most especially, the unchecked temper... all of these recalled Devon's own early days with Andre. Unfortunately, she could not encourage Lindsay's intention to confront her father, at least not now. Marriage to Andre also meant that she had learned from him, as he had from her, and she had considerably more understanding of his judgment and wisdom than she'd possessed at eighteen. Also, Devon was his mate, his partner, and no matter how devoted she might be to her children, her husband had always come first, just as she was the most important person in his life.
"Lindsay, darling, you'll hate me for saying this, but I don't want you to bother your father right now. I understand your feelings, and I doubtless would have shared them at your age, but after thirty years, I've learned to trust the judgment of my husband. He knows what he's doing."
"Judgment?!" she cried, all the while trying to twist loose from Coleraine's grip. "Don't you mean cowardice? Have you forgotten that the British burned every ship anchored at Pettipauge? That they humiliated the town? I tried to console myself by thinking that if Papa had been there, he at least would have fought back, but now I'm not so certain!"
Ryan spoke up, hoping to end the conversation. "The issue is not cowardice, Miss Raveneau, but common sense. The entire village of Pettipauge might have been burned to the ground if we had resisted. I can assure you that if I'd thought there was a chance for victory, I would have risked my own life, but that chance was not there. As for our present circumstances, it would be folly to fight a British ship when we hope to be welcomed in London."
"If America had been governed by common sense, we would never have fought and won the Revolutionary War!" Lindsay shouted.
Slanting a bemused look at Devon, Coleraine murmured, "Perhaps you weren't aware of your daughter's bloodthirsty tendencies...."
"I hadn't a clue!" she replied dazedly.
"How dare you join forces with this beast?" Lindsay accused her mother. A sudden blast of rain stung her face, bringing her near tears. Ryan was sufficiently distracted by the conversation so that when she jerked her shirttail free, his fingers tightened a second too late. Lindsay ran into the rain toward the quarterdeck, her hair streaming out behind her. Ryan was only a step short of catching her when Lindsay's foot struck a coil of rope and she pitched sideways, striking her head against the carved rail.
Chapter 7
May 5-10, 1814
For more than a dozen hours, La Mouette and her two able captains led the pursing British frigate on a wild and exhilarating chase over the Atlantic Ocean. The storm joined in the game, moving behind La Mouette shortly after sunset so that the frigate was forced to fight twice as hard to keep up. The rain continued, but the wind was more manageable. Under the guidance of Raveneau and Coleraine, and with the skill of their crew, La Mouette gradually lengthened the distance between the two ships until the frigate had been left behind the western horizon.
It was past midnight, however, before Raveneau let his wife coax him below for some sleep. Approaching his daughter's cabin, he murmured, "I still find it hard to believe this wild tale about Lindsay's antics up on deck."
"I found it hard to believe when it was happening!" Devon exclaimed, her voice rising slightly. Whispering, she continued, "Your daughter behaved like an absolute hellion!"
"'Twould seem that she takes after her mother after all. I seem to remember an incident long ago when you defied my order to remain below during a storm—and ended up falling and hitting your head against the deck...."
"I fell because I was struggling to throw a line to you after you had dived overboard to save Caleb Jackson! If I hadn't been there, you might have died!"
"I'm aware of that, petite chatte. I realized that day that a hellion might have redeeming qualities." Smiling, he wrapped an arm around her diminutive form. "I must say that I find this uproar about Lindsay's behavior rather disconcerting. Have you not always bemoaned the fact that she was so unwaveringly self-contained?"
Devon shook her head, gazing across the cabin to the polished mahogany bunk where her daughter lay, pale against the white sheets, apricot-hued tresses spread out in contrast. Cassie sat in a chair inches away, mending an apron. "It's just that this new aspect of her personality has displayed itself suddenly. Each time she rails at Ryan Coleraine, I am stunned! Today, I could hardly believe that I was in the presence of my own daughter."
"Well, the crisis has passed. Lindsay did open her eyes and smile momentarily, so we know she'll be all right. Somehow, La Mouette performed a miracle and escaped that British frigate—"
"The miracle was performed by you, my love," Devon put in.
"Don't forget that I had assistance from Ryan and the crew! In any event, we're all safe, and I am exhausted and know you must be, too, after sitting with Lindsay for a dozen hours. Are you aware that it's past midnight, cherie? Let's go to bed."
"Thank goodness for Cassie." She sighed.
The Raveneaus stepped into the gangway just as Ryan Coleraine came down through the hatch. Though the rain had nearly stopped, his black hair was still wet and his white linen shirt clung to his hard-muscled chest. Quickly, he approached them.
"How is she?"
"Still sleeping, but the surgeon assures us that's normal after a head injury," Andre replied. "Did you receive the message that she regained consciousness momentarily a few hours ago?"
"Yes. If not for that encouraging news, I couldn't have remained on deck." A muscle tightened in his jaw. "If I had not relaxed my guard and let her get away from me, this would not have happened."
"Don't be silly!" Devon admonished in a heated whisper. "Lindsay is a grown woman, and you must not hold yourself accountable in any way for her actions!"
Ryan sighed harshly. He wanted to say that, after his experience with Lindsay during the British attack on Pettipauge, he thought that he knew better than anyone what she was capable of in a temper, and he couldn't help feeling that with the knowledge came an implied responsibility. There was no point in verbalizing those thoughts to her parents, though. It was plain that they had not been acquainted with Lindsay the spitfire—until now.
"Would you mind if I look in on her?" he asked quietly.
"Go right ahead," Rav
eneau said. "Cassie, our housekeeper, is with her, and we were just about to retire for a few hours." Almost as an afterthought, he asked, "Is the situation still stable above?"
"Fine, sir." Ryan gave him a tired smile. "The men are still marveling over the fact that we eluded confrontation with that frigate."
"Why? Are not the two finest sea captains in America on board? Failure would have been a bigger surprise!"
After bidding the Raveneaus good night, Coleraine cautiously entered Lindsay's cabin. He half expected her to sit up and order him out, but she lay still and silent in the flickering lantern light.
Cassie rose to meet Ryan halfway. "It's good to see you, Captain Coleraine," she whispered. "Would you mind staying with Miss Lindsay for a few minutes? I should go and tell my husband that I'll be spending the night here."
He nodded and then, alone with Lindsay, approached the bunk. Clad in a fresh, snowy-white bed gown, she was the picture of innocent, serene beauty. Ryan reached over and ran a fingertip along one long, shining curl, and his mind spun back to the moments just after Lindsay had fallen. The instant that he'd realized she was unconscious, he had quickly checked her pulse, then lifted her limp form gently in his arms to carry her below to her cabin. Devon, with a mother's reserve of alert composure, had not panicked but sent a boatswain's mate to fetch the surgeon before following Ryan through the hatch.
The wind had whipped Lindsay's wet hair into his face as he crossed the deck. He remembered that now, along with the unfamiliar feeling of desperation that had gripped him. It still surprised Ryan when he realized how troubled he was by Lindsay's plight. She looked angelic, with her lips parted and long lashes brushing delicately sculptured cheeks, but he knew that she would be incensed that Ryan was staring at her in her helpless state.
Lindsay's right hand was turned palm-up on the bedclothes. Ryan felt a pang at the sight of it, so pale and soft. On an impulse, he laid his own brown forefinger over her cool palm and was surprised to see Lindsay's fingers curl around it.
"Ryan?" she whispered, her lashes fluttering open.
"Yes, Lindsay, I'm here." He reached out with his free hand to brush stray tendrils of strawberry-blond hair from her brow.
She turned her face against his hand. "I'm sorry... I've been so bad... I shouldn't be so bad to you."
"Nonsense," he replied warmly, smiling. When she tried to turn toward him, Ryan gently gathered her in his arms. "You're going to be just fine and then you can be as bad to me as you like. I won't mind a bit."
She smiled dreamily, nestling against his chest. "You're so strong...."
Ryan blinked. "You had better go back to sleep, little one, before you say something you'll regret later on."
After nearly managing a smile in return, she closed her eyes. For a long moment, Coleraine studied her sleeping face, then bent to kiss her brow gently. If Lindsay comprehended the touch of Ryan's lips, she gave no sign.
* * *
Peeking into her daughter's cabin, Devon discovered Cassie putting fresh linen on the bunk.
"Where is Lindsay? Ought she to be up?"
"She claims her headache has disappeared, ma'am," Cassie replied with a sigh and a shrug. "Insisted on dressing and going on deck, but I believe that Captain Coleraine intercepted her in the gangway."
"Well, four days have passed, so I suppose we couldn't expect to keep her down any longer."
"The reasonable girl I used to know would have been content to stay abed with a stack of books!"
Devon laughed. "What do you suppose has caused this transformation?"
"If I didn't know better, I'd say Miss Lindsay was in love, but of course that's impossible! The only eligible candidate is Ryan Coleraine, and we all know well enough how she feels about him." Cassie sighed again and shook out a fresh sheet. "The man has only to open his mouth and she takes offense. Of course, Miss Lindsay has led a rather sheltered life, and she's never had to associate with anyone she didn't like, so perhaps it's just these enforced new circumstances that've exposed this new side of her."
"Perhaps..." It did seem to be the only logical explanation. "Do you know what, Cassie? As incorrigible as Lindsay can be these days, I like seeing her show spirit."
"I suppose you're right. There's no real cause for alarm as long as Captain Coleraine doesn't lose his temper and strangle the girl!"
"I'd better see to it that he isn't doing that very thing as we speak. She never appeared on deck, and Ryan isn't there, either. Where could they be?"
The sound of Lindsay's voice, raised in tones of outrage, answered Devon's question. Following it to the Irishman's cabin, she discovered the two of them seated at a small table, apparently engaged in a card game.
"You must be cheating!" Lindsay accused, her eyes flashing.
Coleraine lounged back in his chair and stretched his legs. A thin cheroot was lightly clenched between his white teeth as he reached out to discard a red king. One card remained in his hand, while she held two.
"It's typical of you, little sister, to assail my honor in an effort to distract attention from the real reason you're losing," he taunted sardonically.
"Don't say it, you rude beast!"
Ryan continued imperturbably, "It would be a sign of maturity for you simply to admit that your intelligence is no match for mine."
"What a horrendous thing to say!" Lindsay cried, coming halfway out of her chair. "Just because you have had more practice gambling, that does not mean that you are more intelligent than I. No doubt you have mastered all the vices!"
He feigned modesty. "You flatter me, Miss Raveneau, but I fear it takes a lifetime of practice to achieve that level of expertise."
"Wishful thinking!" she shot back, drawing an appreciative grin from her opponent.
"Gracious!" Devon exclaimed from the doorway. "It appears that you are recovered, my dear!"
"You have a way with an understatement, Mrs. Raveneau," Coleraine said dryly as he stood to welcome her. "Won't you join us?"
"Mama," Lindsay demanded, "have you ever encountered a more arrogant jackanapes in your life?"
"I don't mean to interrupt or disparage your intelligence, Miss Raveneau, but doesn't the word jackanapes usually refer to a male?" Ryan wondered, straight-faced.
"I'm talking about you!" She made a sound of extreme exasperation as the color heightened in her cheeks.
Devon looked on with a mixture of amazement and consternation. It was encouraging to see Lindsay so animated and rosy again, but she wondered if her behavior wasn't a bit extreme. Accepting the chair that Ryan held for her, she observed, "The pair of you are the outside of enough! Can you not exchange two consecutive civil remarks?"
"I hope you don't think I'm to blame," Lindsay protested, studying her cards. "You have heard for yourself how he goads me."
Ryan laughed outright at that, devils in his eyes.
"Perhaps he's just teasing you, darling. Try to rise above it." Devon's own mouth turned up under the spell of the man's charm. How could her daughter be immune? His looks alone were devastating. Her gaze drifted from his ruffled black curls down to his long-muscled legs sheathed in biscuit breeches and knee boots. Devon suppressed a maidenly sigh and looked over to discover Lindsay scowling at her cards. Trying a different tack, she inquired, "Are you two playing piquet?"
Ryan nodded, trying to look serious as he waited for his opponent to make her final, fatal discard.
"I didn't know that you were familiar with the game, Lindsay," she pursued.
The girl looked up, smoldering. "Well, I wasn't until an hour ago!" At her wit's end, Lindsay discarded a diamond only to have Ryan show her the club he'd been guarding. The game was his.
"That's three out of three," he murmured. "Will you yield?"
"But there's been no wager involved, has there?" Devon interjected.
"Your daughter insisted, Mrs. Raveneau."
"But what could she have offered?"
"My gold-embossed volume of William Blake against his first
edition of Shelley," Lindsay mourned, inclining her head toward the two books reposing on the edge of the table.
"I think that, in view of your unfamiliarity with the game, we should postpone the wager until a later date," Ryan decided.
She narrowed her gray eyes suspiciously. "My word is good, sir."
"Captain Coleraine is right, Lindsay. With practice, you'll doubtless win easily! Save the books you both love for a more balanced confrontation."
"No!" she cried. "I won't be treated like a child! I made a wager and I mean to honor it." Lifting her chin, Lindsay held out the book. "Perhaps a dose of Blake will be good for your soul."
"Well, anything's possible." Ryan smiled. He accepted the volume he knew she treasured only out of deference to her pride. "Please feel free to borrow this whenever you wish. In fact"—he gestured casually toward the bookshelves that were as filled as her own—"I hope that you will avail yourself of any of these books—on the off chance that there might be something interesting that you do not already own."
Lindsay found it far easier to deal with his insolence than his kindness. "You needn't patronize me. I intend to win my book back and gain possession of many of yours before this voyage ends."
"I don't doubt that you'll try." He nodded, a spark of admiration in his eyes.
At that moment, when Devon was casting about wildly for a way to lighten the mood, Andre Raveneau appeared. "Well, isn't this a cozy scene!" he observed, bending to kiss first his wife and then his daughter. "How are you feeling, ma fille?"
"Much better, Papa." She smiled, thawing visibly. "When I awoke today, my headache had vanished!"
"Well, that's good news! It's wonderful to see you up and dressed. What's going on here?"
"Captain Coleraine has been teaching me to play piquet," she answered as lightly as she was able.
"Excellent! I'm pleased that you two have declared a truce." He cocked an approving eyebrow at Ryan. "I knew that with a little time and effort you could become friends."
As if on cue, Cassie appeared with a tray of neatly sliced bread, meat, cheese, and apples surrounded by pewter mugs of red wine. "I thought you all might enjoy something to eat," she explained, placing the offering on the table.
Surrender the Stars Page 8