Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  “From a pushy boy who didn’t know when to stop. You remind me of him.”

  Guillaume’s eyebrows rose with interest. He offered the bottle to Tom. “A boy?”

  “I wrestled his dagger away and I haven’t seen him since. He’s lucky.”

  Leaning one hand on the dusty floor, Guillaume pressed closer. “My captain tells me wrestling is a fine, ancient sport.” Lured by this robust young man to a secret assignation near the most lethal location in the ship, Guillaume’s new sense of adventure was stimulated beyond his control. He couldn’t resist. His other hand came to rest on the inside of Tom’s thigh. “I am not skilled in the art of wrestling. You won’t find it necessary to employ it with me.”

  Setting down the bottle, Tom turned to his companion and aimed the full force of his drunken attention at him. “You’re right. I won’t.” Quickly, Tom closed the gap between their bodies.

  Thrilled by the sailor’s aggression, Guillaume didn’t see the flash of Tom’s knife— until it was too late.

  Chapter 29

  A Communion of Men

  Tom had learned Mr. Starkey’s lessons. He knew when to let go, and he knew when to hold on. Leaning into Guillaume, he smiled without humor, gripping the hilt of his knife with a firm hand. The man’s mouth moved in agony, but he had the sense to keep quiet.

  “Good boy, Guillaume.” Tom released the knife, and Guillaume rolled his eyes downward to see it.

  “Monsieur—” He gasped. The knife pinned his hand, neatly, to the deck.

  “Don’t try to talk. I’ll keep it simple.”

  “Please!”

  “Stow that. Now, I can leave you here and fetch the commandant if you like. He’d help you out, I’m sure. He’d be glad to have that bottle back, too.”

  Jerking, Guillaume shook his head.

  “No? I suppose you’re right. He won’t want his dinner with Nibs interrupted, even for his cognac.”

  Guillaume panted, pleading with his eyes.

  “I suppose you want me to fix you up, then?”

  “Oui!”

  “You can show me how grateful you are later. Just listen.” Guillaume swallowed, and Tom grew more cheerful. “That’s better. Now, for starters, have you got a kerchief somewhere?”

  Guillaume whispered, “In my pocket.”

  “Any other day, I bet you’d like me to fish for it. But maybe you’ll just say which one.”

  “The left, the left!”

  Tom dug in Guillaume’s pocket and produced a handkerchief. “Fine quality, this.”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” Guillaume’s voice was tight, strained with pain.

  “A gift from your captain?”

  “In a manner of speaking, Monsieur.”

  “I like the respect you pay me, Guillaume. You’ll keep that up.”

  “Oui, Monsieur.”

  Tom bent toward his officer and, with capable hands, proceeded to untie the man’s cravat. Unwinding it from Guillaume’s neck, Tom said, “Nice and easy, now. Bet that knife hurts a lot.”

  Guillaume barely nodded. He closed his eyes as Tom opened his collar. His neck flushed where Tom’s fingers brushed it.

  “Now, I’m going to pull the knife away, and then we’ll bind that hand. Ready?” Tom didn’t wait for an answer. He closed his fingers around the familiar hilt of his dagger and yanked it from the floor in which it was embedded. Guillaume gritted his teeth as the blade withdrew from his flesh. A red well gushed from the slit between the bones leading to his little finger and his ring finger.

  Tom seized Guillaume’s hand and held it up, pressing the handkerchief to both sides of the wound. “Keep it high, Guillaume, less blood that way. Hold this, and I’ll wrap it.” He bound the long cravat tightly around the kerchief, knotted it off, and set it on Guillaume’s shoulder. “Now pinch your wrist. That’s it. Cut off the flow.” He nodded as Guillaume obeyed. “Just keep it there, and we’ll have a nice chat.” He snatched up the bottle. “Drink, mate?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Tom held the cognac for Guillaume, who gulped several long drinks. Then, looking pale, the French sailor slumped back against the crate, still clutching his wrist and holding it against his shoulder. Tom swilled a drink of his own. He corked the empty bottle and set it aside.

  “There now. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I did warn you.”

  “A simple ‘no’ would have been sufficient.”

  “Ah, there’s where you’re wrong, mate. Now I’ve got your attention— and you know how strongly I feel about you.”

  Perversely, Guillaume’s doubtful face flirted with hope. “Monsieur?”

  “You want to be my girl, don’t you?”

  The mate’s mouth opened, but he remained silent. Tom saw his pulse beating, vulnerable, where the cravat used to hide it.

  “To tell you the truth, the last girl I found disappointed me. But you won’t disappoint me. Will you, Guillaume?”

  “No, Monsieur Tom. I surely won’t.”

  “I like what you called me before. ‘Mr. Tom.’ Has a nice English ring to it.”

  “Very well…Mr. Tom.”

  “Now I have a couple of jobs need doing. Not too difficult, and you’re in just the right position to do them.”

  “Do these jobs involve more deceiving of my captain?”

  “Pretty much the opposite. First, I want you to show the captain your cut. Tell him you don’t want the sail maker sewing you up. You want that nice Doctor Hanover, with the gentle hands.”

  “But why—”

  “Do you want the sail maker to stitch you?”

  “No, but—”

  “I want only the best for you, mate. I care, you know.”

  With a faint smile, Guillaume said, “I do not entirely believe you, but…it will be as you say.”

  “Good boy. Next, I want you to keep watch on my brother. Anytime LeCorbeau starts getting close to him, you jump in the middle. Understand?”

  “Oui, Mr. Tom.”

  “You’ll find a way to make yourself interesting. I learned a few tricks from some Indian women. I’ll tell you about them. That should keep you two occupied for a few nights, anyway.”

  “I hope these tricks do not involve the hands.”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t damage anything important.”

  As Guillaume was seized with a trembling fit, Tom slung his arm around him and patted his thigh. “You’ll have to trust me, Guillaume. Same as I’m trusting you.”

  Guillaume breathed hard, and the convulsions abated. Tom released him.

  “It’s not so bad a deal for you. Once you’ve followed my orders, you can become the hero and find that missing bottle of cognac. LeCorbeau will love you for that.”

  “The bottle? But Mr. Tom, we have just imbibed it. Have we not?”

  “I told you, Guillaume. I’m not like you. I’d never steal from my captain.”

  “But…” Maintaining his grip on his wrist, Guillaume gestured toward the flask.

  “That? Oh, that’s just grog.” Tom tucked it back into his pocket.

  “And where is the rest of the cognac?”

  “Right where it ought to be. Don’t you recognize this?” Tom held up the empty bottle.

  Dazed, Guillaume shook his head.

  “This is the stuff we didn’t finish that first night I came aboard. After you nodded off, I thought it a shame to pitch it in the sea. Saved it for you. Glad I did, too.”

  “Then, the cognac for which the commandant is searching…?”

  “Is still hidden away. Just in case you decide not to carry through with my requests. It might be tucked behind your pillow even now.”

  “Mr. Tom, I understand what you want— I think. I will perform these tasks for you, but why were you so insistent on getting into these crates?”

  “I’ll tell you why, mate.” Tom leaned forward. “I was looking for a man.”

  “A man? Packed up and locked away?”

  “Guess I’ve found him, haven’t I
?” Grinning, Tom reached to Guillaume’s waist and, once again, took possession of his key ring. Removing the key to the compartment, he shoved it into his own pocket. Then he tucked the rest of the bunch into Guillaume’s uniform. “Now that I’ve stumbled on this place, it’ll make a good spot for keeping our secrets. Won’t it?” Tom scooped up the cognac, lifted the top of the crate, and pitched the bottle in. It landed with a crackle of papyrus.

  “Mr. Tom, I will ask for the surgeon. I will distract the commandant. And I will meet you here again whenever you say. But— I hope this will be soon.”

  “No promises. Now, keep that hand elevated. I’ll lock up and see you to the crew deck.” Tom heaved himself up. As Guillaume’s eyes followed him, he located the handspike and pounded the lid of each crate into place. Brushing off his hands, he turned to Guillaume and, like a gentleman, offered to assist the mate to rise. He dusted Guillaume’s uniform and helped him into his jacket, buttoning it up and neatening the collar.

  “Be sure you tell the captain you stuck yourself with your own knife. Here.” Tom picked up the knife and wiped it on Guillaume’s wrappings. Then he pulled Guillaume’s dagger from his belt and smeared it before returning it. Moving to the back of the crate against which they had leaned, Tom shoved. It grated along the floor to cover the small pool of blood. Holding up the flower petal, he said, “Next time you see this, you meet me here.” He stowed it in his pocket, then tucked the handspike in his boot.

  “All this, Mr. Tom, to keep your brother from the captain’s favor?”

  “Funny thing. My brother doesn’t fancy him.”

  “I did not incline that way at the first, either. But I was hungry. I learned.”

  “Nibs is more likely to kill him. I don’t want to see my brother hang.”

  “But if you showed the commandant the cleverness I have seen, he would find you most interesting. Why do you not distract him yourself?”

  “I’m just a sailor, Guillaume. As you say, my insolence would get me into trouble. And as fascinating as more scars might make me, I’m content with just the one.” Tom cocked his head. “Besides, Guillaume. I don’t like LeCorbeau nearly as much as I like you.”

  Guillaume gave a timid smile. His slender cheeks pinked, then blanched as Tom squeezed his bandaged hand.

  “Now give us a kiss, love, and show me that you mean what you promise.”

  Between the pain and the ecstasy, Monsieur Guillaume nearly swooned.

  Tom had learned when to hold firm. The cognac helped. He rolled his eyes and thanked his lucky stars that Mr. Starkey wasn’t watching.

  § § §

  Cecco had watched Jill, and— not without pleasure— she studied him in turn. Jill convinced herself that Cecco wasn’t concerned about Mr. Smee. Not now, when the rulers of the Roger enjoyed more intimacy than ever. Without doubt, Cecco sensed the sincerity of her commitment to him. Surely when he took her to task about Mr. Smee a dozen days ago, he had been continuing the show for Liza, to report back to her father.

  Still, Jill was cautious. When Smee had appeared at last that afternoon, trailed by Yulunga, Jill hid herself away in her quarters. But now, as she scanned the pages she’d covered with writing in the aftermath of Cecco’s questioning, she realized how very absorbed she was with the Irishman after all. And through him, in every drop of ink, seeped her feelings for Hook. Only three people could truly cherish this story. This work must be handled discretely. When Liza rapped at her door, Jill gathered the pages and slid them under her blotter.

  “Come, Liza.” Smoothing her features with her fingers, Jill rose to accept the cup of tea. “Thank you.”

  Liza set the tray on the window seat and remained standing, her eyes inquiring as she indicated her mouth with her hand.

  “No, I can’t eat this morning. I’ve no appetite at all. Even this tea tastes different to me today. But I want you to loosen my laces.” Jill turned her back and shook her hair from it, smiling. “The captain doesn’t know his own strength. It feels as if he’s pulled them a bit tight these last few mornings.” When she was comfortable, she breathed more easily. “Just make the bed, then, Liza. Nothing else.”

  Again Liza lingered, and this time she drew her open hand across her throat. Her pretty pearls shone, and Jill brightened. “Yes. I believe I’d like to wear my opals today. It’s been some time.” Some time…since Smee’s big hands had strung them in front of her eyes, on orders from their captain. The first morning ever. Absently, Jill drank her tea. Her emerald gown glimmered around her.

  Liza moved to the wardrobe, her skirts rustling. Hearing them, her mistress looked up. “Liza, let me have a good look at your new dress. It’s quite becoming.”

  Liza didn’t stop her progress. Only after pulling out the opal necklace and securing the jewel drawer did she turn to display her gown. Jill concluded that the girl must still be accustoming herself to it, for as Liza’s back was turned, she had adjusted the neckline. It swooped in a graceful curve above a tapering triangle of cream-colored fabric that pointed toward her narrow waist. The skirt was wide, necessitating petticoats, which, Jill clearly observed, Liza also wore. A deep maroon, the gown set off her brown hair perfectly. Like Liza herself, the dress was tasteful, but unobtrusive. Under Jill’s direction, she spun once to show it off, then subsided.

  “Yes, it’s quite nice. But I see it laces in back. Now you face the same problem I have. I hope that, like my captain, your father is not too proud to help you dress.”

  Liza’s breathing grew rapid. The pride she displayed a moment ago vanished, and she clutched her abdomen. The opals dangling through her fingers swung against the maroon, glinting ostentatiously in contrast.

  Something about Hook’s jewels in the girl’s hands made Jill feel nauseated. She reconsidered her decision. The day Cecco interrogated her, Jill had laid away the boy David’s silver shamrock. She knew that, today, she mustn’t remove even one of Cecco’s adornments to make room for Hook’s.

  “Never mind the opals, Liza. Please, put them back.” Turning away, Jill heard Liza’s skirts swish and the working of the drawer. She busied her hands with her teacup. Settling to rest on the window seat, she stared out at the sea, not really relishing the drink today, but feeling its warmth within the hollow of her stomach. Usually, that warmth sustained her.

  “Is the captain preparing to board L’Ormonde, Liza?”

  Liza nodded.

  “Your father, too?”

  As Liza indicated the affirmative, Jill remembered her duty. She filled her eyes with eagerness.

  “Tell me. How is he?”

  Liza smiled. Not the pretense of a smile she so often used for her mistress, but a genuine smile of pleasure. Jill read its meaning as best she might.

  “Then all is well, and we may look forward to a change. Remember that first day, Liza, when I told you? Change can be welcome.”

  The girl watched, but Jill’s face showed nothing of the irony under which she must be suffering. Nor— yet— did Jill display the effects of the potion she was imbibing. She would do so, in time. To make sure of it, Liza picked up the pot and refilled the lady’s teacup.

  “Thank you, Liza. But how did you finally persuade your father to allow you to accept the gown? I understand it is a gift from Mr. Yulunga. A gift he offered many times.”

  Liza replaced the teapot on its tray. Then, looking concerned, she raised her hand to wave once, and her face cleared.

  “A parting gift! Yes, that would make our dear doctor happy. You made him feel he has won an extra point against his captors. You’re a clever young woman, Liza.”

  Liza’s next gesture caught her mistress by surprise. She tapped her chest to indicate herself, raised her finger to her eye, and then, with a steadfast gaze, pointed at Jill.

  The lady stared at her, her smile slowly deepening. “Watching me…and following my example?” She returned Liza’s gaze, and her manner was satisfied. “It seems between the two of us, we will manage your father very well.” Jill rose
to stand. The lack of nourishment must be taking its toll, she thought; a spell of lightheadedness caused her to falter and catch herself. The weakness passed. She was pleased that Liza didn’t appear to have marked it.

  “Go now, Liza. Don’t fuss with the bed. As it happens, on this particular morning I choose not to be watched.”

  Liza curtsied and bustled away, feeling the pleasant tickling of Jill’s ruby necklace where it hid between her breasts. Captain Cecco had exhibited some interesting objections to Mr. Smee. With the assistance of the lady’s teacup, Liza was about to put the captain to the test.

  § § §

  Jill’s solitude was short-lived, and as matters unfurled, she was grateful for the fact. The master’s door opened and closed, and she looked up, expecting to see Cecco. Only the captain would enter unannounced. But instead, Jill saw another face, a beloved face, unkempt, full of concern, but most welcome. She sat staring at him, and then she smiled. Standing, she shoved the hook from her lap to roll gleaming to the cushioned seat. Like a girl, she picked up her emerald skirts and ran into his arms, her bare feet skimming the carpets.

  He set down his burden and without question, bent to welcome her into his embrace. Flinging her arms around him, she pressed her cheek to his rough beard. She hadn’t imagined him. Smee was real.

  “You’re here,” she sighed.

  “Where I belong.” He saw no reason to let her go. On the contrary, he held her tighter. “I came soon as ever I could.”

  Only now did Jill become cautious. She pulled back an inch, holding Smee’s strong red arms. But she didn’t allow him to drop his hands from her waist. In the back of her mind, she acknowledged she had been longing for just this feeling, this touching. More than that. She had craved it. But she didn’t stop to wonder why; time was of the essence. “Is Captain Cecco away then?”

  “Aye, and all the lads are busy with the Frenchmen. No one saw me come in. I judge we have a wee bit of time to talk.”

  “What of Mr. Yulunga?”

  “Seems the lass is giving him her gratitude for the dress. She’s got him up on the quarterdeck. But Lady, what’s the matter? Why were you sending for me? Is it—” Smee glanced across the room to the cushions where she’d been sitting. Shock struck his face. “Where did you find that?”