by Regan Walker
She was having a conversation with a damn cat! The cat jumped down from the bed and padded the short distance to the cabin door, rubbing her body back and forth against the wooden panel.
“All right, then. Be off with you,” she said, opening the cabin door. “I shall work on exorcizing my attraction to your arrogant master.”
Chapter 6
Tara’s life aboard ship over the next several weeks fell into a familiar routine. She rose early, just before dawn, and after a brief stop to visit with McGinnes and eat a bowl of oatmeal, she was up on deck helping the crew with their chores. Jake was always there, scowling at the seamen whose interested gazes lingered too long upon her. He reminded her of her oldest brother, George, who was ever protective. She knew the crew whispered about her and the captain, and she vowed to provide no further scenes for their speculation.
This morning Tara sat back on her heels on the weather deck watching Billy Uppington concentrate on trying to tie a bowline knot. The seas were calm and the ship steady, but he struggled as if on a rolling deck, trying to bring the resisting threads of line together. His dark curls falling around his face, he reminded her of her brother Ben. The ache that never went away settled in her heart once again. Ben had sought to please their older brothers as Billy sought to please the crew. Even though she had been younger than Ben by five years, she had helped him. The knots that came so easily to her had been as difficult for Ben as they were for Billy.
The deck rolled with a swell, making only more difficult the young seaman’s efforts to create a knot that looked like the one Tara had shown him.
“Me fingers are all thumbs!” Billy threw down the half-tied knot, frustration clear on his face. Tara sympathized. The intricate work she had learned as a young girl was only made more difficult by the young seaman’s large, work-roughened hands.
Tara picked up the entangled knot, turning it over as she studied how best to complete it. “You must give it time, Billy. Just be patient with yourself. Before long you’ll be able to tie it upside down, backwards, even facing the opposite way. See,” she held out the tangle of threads, “this thread fits in here,” indicating the one he’d missed.
Billy scarcely gave the knot a glance. “In truth, Miss Tara, I’ve been wonderin’ if I really want a life at sea. I’m ever clumsy scalin’ the rigging, and I’m always trippin’ over my feet on deck.”
She held out the knot for Billy to observe as she showed him how to twist the rope to the desired end. “There, see, it can be managed!”
“I see how you managed it, Miss Tara.”
“You can do it too, Billy,” she urged. She wanted the young seaman to succeed. It was like helping Ben. When their older brothers teased him unmercifully, she had been his champion.
“All right. I’ll keep trying,” he said grudgingly, accepting the knot from her hand. She knew he would, if only to please her. He was a sweet lad. But Billy might be right about not making an able seaman if his heart wasn’t in it. She hoped he would continue trying.
“It just takes time,” she said. “I was terrible when I first began and my oldest brother was quite rude in his tormenting me.” Seeing discouragement in his brown eyes and not wanting to leave him that way, she asked, “Where is home for you, Billy?”
“Derbyshire,” he said wistfully. Then shaking his head, he added, “But the times are not good there now. The crops have been in trouble since last year and the new machines are replacing many men in the weavin’ trade. The people are unhappy. Some families are starvin’. My own family has struggled. My father has been out of work since the war ended. And the iron works doesn’t have the orders it once did. I thought if I tried something different than farming or the iron works, I could make a better life for meself and help the family.”
“And you will.” Tara urged. She felt keenly the responsibility the young man had assumed and hoped she could help him. “Did you leave a girl behind?”
“No…or well there was a girl I liked,” he said, blushing, “but we’d only started to talk some when I left.”
Tara rose and shook out her legs, cramped from sitting so long. “Perhaps she is waiting for you. But if not, there will be many girls for you to choose from, Billy.”
At those words a big smile broke out on his face. “Do you think so?”
“I’m certain of it,” said Tara, seeing his cheeks redden in another blush.
Mr. Smith, hurrying by, scolded, “Don’t waste that seaman’s time, Miss McConnell. He has chores that need doing.”
She wouldn’t explain herself to Mr. Smith, or Smitty, as the crew called him. That he resented her presence was evident by his sullen demeanor whenever he encountered her. “We are finished, Mr. Smith.” Then, smiling at Billy, she said, “I think I’ll visit with Mr. Baker,” and she headed aft.
Before she reached the helm, she saw Nate and Jake bent over a coil of rope, their backs to her. Hearing her name mentioned, she slowed as she approached.
“Ja, I can see that, Mr. Baker, but do you think the lass will be safe with the captain? I don’t like the way he looks at her, like a starvin’ man lookin’ at a beefsteak.”
“The question is, Jake, will the cap’n be safe with Tara McConnell? That I rather doubt.” The older seaman chuckled, and Jake turned to stare at Nate in wonder.
Tara did an about-face and quietly padded to amidships, wondering at Nate’s words. Why did he think the captain was not safe with her? Wasn’t it the other way around? When the captain was on deck, Tara often felt his eyes upon her. Like mysterious fingers reaching out to touch her, his stare could send shivers up her spine. Worse, his presence drew her gaze despite her resolve to avoid him. At those times, she would turn to see his broad shoulders draped in a white shirt billowing in the wind, his powerful muscled legs in black breeches and boots, and his ebony hair flying around his face. She was afraid to get too close, afraid he would see what she tried so desperately to hide. Despite her initial reaction to him, she had come to respect the way he handled his crew. But remembering his kiss and his rakish smile, Tara admitted to herself she had other feelings where he was concerned, and those she would disclose to no one.
Tara spent her afternoons with McGinnes and the men who chose to take their break in the galley to hear the cook spin stories of fairies and to gain a few scraps of food as the cook prepared the evening meal. She and McGinnes were now friends since his new rolls had drawn many accolades from the crew. Once done with the galley, she would head for her cabin, the gray cat following to curl up on her bed for a nap.
Some nights she dined with the captain and the first mate, but for the rest she ate in her cabin and read by the light of a lantern. The seas were not always calm, but when they were, once in a while, at Nate’s suggestion, Tara joined the men on deck as they entertained themselves with seafaring songs until the sun sank into the sea. It was a pleasant way to pass the time. They sang of the sea and the loves they left behind. Several of the men had musical instruments—a guitar, a fiddle and a flute among them. Together they made a rousing good sound.
Tonight there was a large group gathered on deck, among them Mr. Adams, the thin sailmaker with the reddish-brown hair whom she’d helped to mend the foresail that morning; the gunner, Charlie Wilson, who cared for the guns like they were his children; John Trent, the young seaman whose leg had been injured in the incident with the broken batten; and even the ill-tempered Mr. Smith. Watching in the background, as always, was Jake.
“Miss Tara,” said John Trent, “do you sing any songs by yourself?” She had watched him walk on the deck that evening. Even with the roll of the ship, he seemed to be moving with only a slight limp.
“Sometimes I do. My brothers like the ballad of ‘Barbara Allen.’”
“Would you sing it for us?” asked the sailmaker, who had set down his fiddle to ask.
“If you wish it.” She glanced at Augie, Charlie and Mr. Smith, the ones playing instruments. “Do you know the tune?
“Ja,”
said Jake, “they know it.”
Mr. Adams lifted his fiddle to his chin. The others with instruments joined him and the men began to play the opening chords of the sad song her brothers loved.
’Twas in the merry month of May
When the green buds were a swellin’
Sweet William came from the West Country
And fell in love with Barbara Allen.
He courted her for seven long years
’Til his heart in him was failing
And asked his love to marry him
But “No,” said Barbara Allen.
A few verses into the ballad, out of the corner of her eye, Tara saw the captain striding toward them, his face an indiscernible mask. He paused when he neared Tara and the group of seated men, and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the rail. He appeared to listen with interest as her voice lifted in clear tones, the ballad descending to a sad note.
On a somber rotten day
When all the leaves were fallin’
Sweet William on his deathbed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.
Tara sang on, the story taking a turn as the lovesick lad’s servant summoned Barbara Allen to his master’s bedside, only to have the girl turn him away. The crew gave her their rapt attention when she sang of the young man’s death and Barbara Allen’s subsequent remorse.
As she was walking o’er the fields
She heard the deathbell knellin’
And every stroke it seemed to say
“Hardhearted Barbara Allen.”
The looks on the faces of the men turned serious as they listened to her sing of the girl who spurned true love’s call, only to realize too late she’d lost the only man she would ever love, and so died of sorrow.
They buried her in the old churchyard
And William they buried nigh her
Out of William’s heart there grew a rose
Out of Barbara Allen’s there grew a briar
They grew and grew to the steepletop
’Til they could grow no higher
And there they twined in a true love’s knot
The rose wrapped round the briar.
When Tara finished the ballad, there was silence for a long moment. Even some of the hardened seamen seemed moved. Mr. Smith looked away as if fighting a memory, and it made her feel sympathy for the often-disgruntled seaman. Then young John Trent said, “’Tis beautiful, Miss Tara.”
“Reminds me of home,” said Mr. Adams, setting down his fiddle.
“Ye’ve the voice of an angel,” said Billy. “Me mum used to sing that song and it was beautiful to hear ye sing it.”
The men murmured their agreement with Billy’s sentiment, though Tara noticed the captain remained silent in the shadows. Was he pondering what love he might have passed by? The somber expressions on the faces of the crew told Tara it was time to lighten their mood. She suggested they next sing one of her brothers’ favorites, “The Maid of Amsterdam.” The men seemed happy to take up the old drinking song.
As they began to sing, Tara joined in, and the ship’s cat curled up at her side, the overlarge white paws for all to admire.
In Amsterdam there dwells a maid,
Mark well what I do say;
In Amsterdam there dwells a maid,
And she is mistress of her trade.
I’ll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid,
A-roving, a-roving, since roving’s been my ruin,
I’ll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid!
Tara’s mood rose along with that of the crew as she sang the song favored by her brothers, clapping her hands in time with the rousing music, old Nate by her side. When they got to the next verse, she caught the captain leaning forward.
I took the maiden for a walk
And sweet and loving was her talk.
I put my arm around her waist,
Says she, “Young man, you’re in some haste.”
It was then the captain moved out of the shadows, raised a brow and fixed his gaze on Tara, a scowl spreading across his face, but she and the crew continued singing.
I took that girl upon my knee,
Says she, “Young man, you’re rather free.”
I put my hand upon her thigh—
At this last line, the captain dropped his hands to his side and stalked toward her, a thunderous expression on his face.
Tara stopped singing, as did the men.
“I think it’s time I escort the young lady to her cabin,” the captain said, casting a dark scowl at his crew. None of the men uttered a word and the music trailed off. She rose and left with the captain, not wishing to challenge his authority in front of his men, though it was none of his business if she sang the salty songs.
“You may continue,” the captain said over his shoulder to the seated men. His hand took hold of her elbow and he escorted her to the hatch leading to their cabins. She felt chided and embarrassed in front of the men. Yet his touch, which was none too tender, sent shivers coursing through her. No man’s touch had ever excited and frightened her the way his did. Whatever one might say about Nicholas Powell, he was a formidable man. And the heat of his chest touching her shoulder deeply affected her. Though she was dressed in a lad’s breeches and shirt, he made her feel like a woman grown, so attuned was she to this English sea captain.
“I don’t understand you, Miss McConnell,” he whispered in her ear in a stern tone, as he motioned for her to descend the ladder. “Why are you not satisfied with being a woman? And why must you interfere with the duties of my men?”
She grabbed the side of the ladder and descended to the deck below. “It’s clear you know little of what motivates me, Captain. I do not interfere with the work of your crew. And ordering me about will not render me compliant.”
He followed her down the ladder. “I daresay it has not. You must see how unseemly it is for you, a young woman, to be singing bawdy songs with my crew.”
They walked down the companionway. “Really, Captain, on my brothers’ ships I have frequently participated in the crew’s entertainment.”
“Are you certain you were not the entertainment?”
“Do you mean to say the song I sang about Barbara Allen?” she asked as they arrived at her cabin door. She paused, turning to face him, indignant at his question and awaiting his answer.
“No, Miss McConnell, I do not refer to your song. I confess I enjoyed it. It is what drew me to the deck.”
“Then to what do you refer, sir?” She was tiring of this game he played.
“To you, Miss McConnell,” he said, letting his eyes drift down to her breasts, then back to her eyes, “to what the men must be thinking. To this—”
He pulled her into his arms and his lips crushed hers before Tara could speak a word. It was not the tender kiss he’d given her the night they’d watched the sunset. It was a kiss of fierce possession, his tongue invading her mouth to stroke hers sensually as he held her captive between her cabin door and the wall of his chest. She struggled against him but to no avail. As he continued to kiss her, he gentled. Though she was angry at the liberties he was taking, soon she was lulled into submission within the confines of his strong arms. When he pressed his body against hers, she melted like hot wax, feeling every inch of him. It was like drowning. She was sinking beneath the rising passion so new to her, helpless to break free of the magic he was spinning as his hand dropped to her hip and he pulled her tightly into his body. Tara raised her hands to his shoulders and held on as she rode the wave that washed away her objections and her good sense.
He lifted his head and in a gruff voice said, “Do you see what I mean, Miss McConnell?”
Still dazed from his kiss, Tara looked into his golden eyes, now dark in the dim passageway. He was breathing heavily, as was she. He seemed to be fighting for control.
When he loosened his hold, she pulled away from him as much as she could given the cabin door at her back. “I see only a man who th
inks he can take what he wants without asking.”
“My point exactly, and you’d do well to observe it. There are men in my crew who would take more. Half the crew drools over you each time you’re on deck. Not all would honor your virtue.”
“I don’t believe the men would harm me. Nate invited me to join them in song and Mr. Johansson watches over me whenever he and I are on deck. Besides, I’m not wearing a gown nor seeking to tempt any of them.”
“You would tempt a man with those lips, that hair and that body no matter if you wore a grain sack, Miss McConnell.”
She glared at him, not knowing whether he’d just paid her a compliment or insulted her. She wondered how tempted the captain had been that he should force his kiss upon her. She was certain he had enjoyed that kiss, that he was as attracted to her as she was to him. Still, it bothered her that she seemed helpless to deny him.
Taking one last look at his golden eyes in the dim light of the corridor, she muttered “Good night, Captain,” and turning in his loosened hold, she hastily entered her cabin.
***
Nick cursed under his breath and slammed his cabin door. His only intention had been to frighten the girl into being sensible. This was a ship full of men and she was a woman who, even in breeches, would never appear the lad to his seasoned crew. Tara McConnell was too desirable for her own good. It wasn’t safe for her to join in the men’s entertainments. The bawdy songs would only give them ideas. The young men might worship her, but what he’d seen in the eyes of some of the older crew gave him pause. Not all were half in love with her as were John and young Billy. But the ones who were not knew him well enough not to go after a woman under his protection—whether Jake guarded her or not.
It had not been Nick’s intention to fall under her spell again. It had all started with that song she sang. Her voice had, indeed, been that of an angel. He would not soon forget the lilting sound. And the old tale of love realized too late caused him to brood about what regrets he might have one day if he let the right woman slip through his fingers. It certainly hadn’t been Caroline. He could see now he’d been blind to her real character. She had flirted, teased and acted the simpering miss, declaring her love while planning a future with another man. No, he was well rid of that flighty piece. She’d made love to him one day and accepted the invitation to become a peer’s wife the next. Perhaps it was precisely because he so valued honesty that he found his pleasure in the arms of women with experience. Better an honest whore than a lady who lies.