Short, hard steps tapped closer. "She's not even one of your crew member's wives. She's a black."
There, the grunt had said it. At least he'd named his hate, and not pranced around it.
She was black, a mere servant, and Lord Welling valued her. She stared up at the baron. With all her heart, her shivering limbs, and with toes that were so cold they might fall off, she wanted to thank him. When he turned, she mouthed the words through chattering teeth.
Lord Welling's lips pursed, but a smirk soon came. "No, Grosling; she's more caramel. There's a difference betwixt caramel and black. My young heir will be able to teach you the colors, too, in a few years."
The gloss of Lieutenant Grosling's boot caught moonlight and some of the shine from the wavering torches of the crew. All heads were nodding, but with whom did the crew agree?
A clap and a few harsh chuckles came out of the War Department man, someone who seemed to be shaping up into Lord Welling's enemy. "Baron. You know what I mean. You don't jeopardize our mission for the likes of her."
The awful man stooped near her, his voice rising, like that would help convey his meaning. "Woman! Can you stay out of trouble for the rest our trip? This captain and crew have more important things to do than fish a servant out of the ocean."
Pushing wet hair from his brow, Lord Welling glanced in Precious's direction then back to the lieutenant. For a moment, it looked as if fire claimed the baron's eyes. "I think Miss Jewell is done playing in the water, but her safety is my concern, as is the safety of everyone who is under my command."
The man swiveled, folding his arms. His eyes cut in a sly manner. "Is she your…"
Lord Welling's muscled legs bent. His arms folded. He seemed poised to attack. "What, the nanny to the boy traveling with me? Yes, she is."
The fool backed up. "All for a dark nanny. You're going to a place of thousands of them, more blacks than you can count. Blast, you can get a Spanish or Dutch courtesan if you want. That is, if any are alive after the Xhosa have their way. Remember, Welling, you have a job to do. Peace won't come to Port Elizabeth if you drown yourself before we get there. Don't give in to carnal misalliances."
"I know what I have to do," the baron's tone sounded stiff, steeped in fury, "and I have just decided that it starts by valuing every life, not just the white ones."
The man guffawed as he tugged on his robe. "You're foolish, Welling; nothing has changed from the war."
Slapping water from his sleeve at the boisterous man, the baron leaned back against the mast pole. "And why should it? My record was impeccable, but I never said my manners were; now, Junior, go back to your hammock, before I forget to value your life."
The thin man scrunched up his face and marched along the deck to the opening. "This will be in my report. Maybe it is a bad idea to let you lead Port Elizabeth. You're not as steady as your uncle."
"But I am a lot more alive than he is at the moment. Port Elizabeth is a Welling calling. Good night, little man."
If his stomping was any indication, the troll would cause problems.
Precious tried to raise her arm to stop the baron from getting in trouble over her, but it radiated with pain. Her formerly-numb arm screamed. Falling into the ocean hurt so bad.
A young lad came running with a blanket and handed it to her. So cold she could barely take it from him, she nodded and mouthed, "Thank you". Using her left hand, she worked the wool about her and her sore shoulder.
The baron looked down at her. His eyes scrunched up with concern. "Miss Jewell, what’s matter with your arm. Is it working?"
Why was he so observant? He had other worries than her foolishness.
Before she could respond, Ralston started laughing. The raucousness was loud and spiteful-sounding. He stroked his ebony mustache that covered most of his fat lips. "A fine fish you caught there, Captain. Before she spun herself in the cloth, quite a curvy little thing, but I suppose she's now your prize, aye, Lord Wellin'?"
The baron straightened, almost blocking the man from viewing her, but nothing could block a lustful eye. Mrs. Narvel's warning came to her. Precious pulled her naked toes under the blanket as best she could.
"Ralston, she's in my employee, just like you. So, unless you are ready to care for my charge's needs, let her be. Come on, Miss…."
The plucky man tugged on the baron's shirttail. "See, fellows? Since Captain Gareth Conroy has become titled the new Lord Welling, he's turned soft."
The baron pried his shirt free. "The liquor is talking, Ralston. Go below and sleep off the rum."
The man stepped so close to Lord Welling that they could've share the same breath. "Admit it; you just don't have it in you to pleasure a woman since your wife died."
The brute pedaled backward and shouted to the growing group of crewmen who'd come up on the deck. The number was up to eight. "Have you seen him wenchin'? I guess he's become too refined for this. Still mooning over a dead woman, or was it the war injuries that took your manhood away?"
The baron's hands had dropped to his sides, almost hiding his fisted palms. "Good joke." Though his words sounded light, the tension in his stance increased. A powder keg would explode soon.
Precious had seen the bucks go at it at Charleston picnics when the liquor had been flowing, but the baron was sober. But maybe he should pound Mr. Ralston for taunting him over Eliza. Why couldn't an honorable man be left alone?
Huffing, Lord Welling waved his arms at the crew. "The excitement is over, fellows; go back to bed. We've got a busy day tomorrow."
Ralston made a circle, prancing with his finger in the air, inciting each of the crewmen to laughter. He again stopped at the baron's side. "Don't worry, Captain, we'll collect your due from the blackamoore. You just go on to your cabin, stare at the wife's picture, or read your Bible for priestly inspiration. We'll show her a good time."
A belly-rolling laugh belted out of Lord Welling. He ducked down and gripped his sides. "Ralston, you sure have me pegged."
More laughs came out of the baron, and even the formerly-silent two or three men gave into chuckles and hooting.
Precious's heart sunk. For a couple seconds, she let herself believe that Lord Welling valued her. He was no different; not when it came to pressure from his crew.
Yet, it couldn’t be that simple, for why would he rescue her, keep rescuing her?
Lord Welling's laughter came harder until he had bent and grasped his sides. Then, like the world slowed to a crawl, he rammed head-first into Ralston's stomach.
The stout man gasped for air as the baron's fist pummeled his jaw.
Clutching his face, Mr. Ralston fell back, only to be tossed forward by a few crewmen. "Captain, what the h—"
The baron hit him again, bloodying an eye. "Just showing my jokes. Isn't that funny, taking a beating from a man filled with honor?"
"Captain's title or not, I'll not let you do that to me." Arms waving, Ralston charged at him.
Lord Welling ducked low, flipped the man onto his back, and tossed him over the rail. The sound of the splash silenced the remaining chuckles.
Getting the rope the men had coiled, he leaned over the side and tossed one end into the ocean. "Ralston, you still alive down there? If so, tie a loop about you."
The baron pulsed his hands, as if to shake off the sting of battle. "You," he pointed to a tall, skinny man. "Let him thrash about for a bit, then pull him back on board. That is, if he learned something. Anyone else need a lesson?"
Silence and head-shaking answered him.
Breathing hard, like steam filled his chest, he swiveled toward each of the men standing around with mouths gaping. "Anyone else think I’m too refined because I’m not a whoremonger?"
Again, silence and stunned faces prevailed.
Marching back to Precious, he gave her his arm and helped her to stand. His eyes seemed wild, whirling with thoughts. He put a hand to her cheek. "I do think Ralston was right. I have earned a reward from you, Jewell." He picked her up and
tossed her over his shoulder. "She's the Captain's woman now; off limits to you all. You hear me?"
Almost in unison, every fellow with low or screeching voices responded the same. "Yes, Captain."
Blood rushing to her head, those words were the last words she could make out before the noise of his boots pounding along the deck covered everything.
Chapter Five: The Captain's Woman
Precious flailed against Lord Welling’s shoulder as he climbed down the ladder to where the cabins sat. The jarring of the motion on her shoulder was enough to make her temples burst, but that was nothing compared to his anger. What was he going to do…to her?
His boots planted on the flooring, but he swayed a bit as the boat moved. “You shall be a delight, my dear.” His words were loud, almost as if he intended others to hear.
He paused, as if he considered dumping her in the cabin she shared with Jonas and Mrs. Narvel, but that surely was wistful thinking. The taunting and the trouble she’d caused had pushed him too far.
Passing by her door, she wished she had just stayed inside and heeded her shipmate’s warning. Then she’d still claim some dignity and maybe a small portion of the baron’s respect.
Slam! Lord Welling kicked open the door to his cabin.
The room bore little light, just the small glow of a hurricane lamp. A bed made for two sat in the center. He strode inside and dumped her onto the firm mattress. Groaning, he marched away and bolted the door.
He laid his head against the paneled and trimmed wood. His fists flattened on the smooth part near the brass plate. With his shoulders sagging, he didn't seem so angry now. No, he looked more defeated. “Couldn't stay below, could you? It's hard enough traveling with women, but a hardheaded one is too much.”
She looked to the footboard and counted the carved leaves notched on the frame. What was she to say to his back?
Sorry.
I didn't mean to fall.
I didn't want folks questioning your leadership.
Instead, she pushed herself to sit. Sucking in at the sting of her arm, she dropped the blanket and pried off her wet robe.
He turned. His angry face began to twist. His nose wrinkled, as if he smelled something horrible. “What are you doing?”
Her heart started pounding, but she worked the first button on her nightgown. She wasn't going to be a victim this time. No tears. She forbade them from coming. She’d allow him his due and get it over with. “At least you won’t kill me, or threaten me when you take all I have.”
His eyes scrunched up, and he plodded to the light, rolling the knob to make the room blindingly bright. “Well, if you intend to give me a show, I might as well see everything.”
She swiped at her eyes. “No jokes. Just come here and be done with it.”
He inhaled a long breath. Then a chuckle crept out of the grim lines of his mouth. “I think you need a little more practice at looking enticing, or at least interested.”
With a shake of his head, he undid the ties to his shirt and pulled the wet thing free, exposing the hardened planes of his chest. The wet cotton plopped onto floor with a slap.
The light made his skin looked tanned, with tufts of dark hair in the valley below his throat.
A gasp left her, not just from the sheer strength hidden by his London clothes, but the horrid scar zigzagging below is heart, extending beyond the waistband of his breeches.
He plodded near and clasped the headboard, his eyes surely studying, measuring her. “Call me crazed, a man of sense and expectation, but a frightened woman doesn't make me feel romantic.”
Trying to not look at him or wonder about the scar, she folded her naked feet up under her. “You’re crazy. Men will do what they do.”
He stretched and tugged the blanket back around her. The smell of him, woodsy and salty, reached her nose. At least he wouldn't reek when he got around to touching her. “You look chilly. I’ve been dunked in the ocean more times than I care to remember. I’m used to the cold.”
How long would he let her agonize, thinking of being forced, of being told it was her fault, and the hopin’ no babies birthed of the evil would come? Counting, sipping slow breaths, she again tugged the blanket down to her waist.
He sat in a chair, tapping the small table to his left. “Well, I should close up this Bible. Wouldn't want passages of caring for the weak or doing unto others slipping out and ruining this seduction.” The leather book closed with a thud. He must’ve been truthful about his worship at sea.
Cocking his head back to lean on the heavily carved spindles of the chair, he lifted his boot to her. “Pull.”
Stretching her unhurt arm, she clutched the nearly-dry hide and yanked it free. The jarring sent up a vibration, making her bones ache. “You do the next one. I can’t.”
His face lifted and a small smile peeked. “Well, how could you with a hurt shoulder? You should truly learn to just tell me the problem.”
She tested her arm, trying to move it. The sting made fresh tears come to her eyes. “Then how could you wish to ravish me in this condition?”
He propped up his head in hands and stared at her. “True, I prefer bedmates who are not writhing from the pain of an injury.”
“Then, I can leave?” Hopping off the bed, she scooped up her robe.
He swung his leg wide, blocking her. “It’s not that simple. The captain’s mistress can’t leave after five minutes.“
“Mistress?” Her heart shriveled. He did intend to punish her.
“Yes, my lover. You’re the captain’s woman, Precious Jewell. No man on this ship will dare touch you if you are mine.”
She wasn't worried about the other men right now, just this one with the intense spark in his eyes. “I’m no lover. Not when forced.”
He sighed long and hard, but what could be frustrating him? He was about to take the rest of her pride.
“No one is forcing any thing, Jewell. I’m the last man you should worry about.”
His gaze felt hot and thick, as if he measured the thickness of her nightgown or if he could see down through to her stays. She bundled the robe closer to her bosom. “Then let me leave or make good on your threats. I don't want to wait in fear of you.”
His brow cocked. “So, mouse, you are giving me permission? How very interesting.”
That didn't quite come out like she wanted, but something in her gut wanted an end to his game. “You think this is easy for me? Just get it over with; the waiting to be humiliated is the worst.”
He rubbed at the light scruff on his chin. “You and my darling Eliza are very similar. She wanted things on her terms, but sometimes life doesn't play along.”
She balled the fist of her working arm and shook it at him. “Just start already.”
“Start what? Molesting you? You work for me. Blast it. I enslaved you but a month ago. A woman needs a choice. You can't choose under bondage or fear. You must always choose.”
His deep voice grew lower, slowing, making each of his syllables punch her in the gut. “I know. I have suspected since the night of the storm that some blackguard didn't let you choose before. That’s why you jump when I touch you. You freeze if my arms are about you. That’s not what I or any decent man wants.”
Backing up, the footboard stopped her retreat, poking her leg. There was no escape from his accusation. It was true, but she couldn’t talk about that time with him or anyone.
Yet, the tremble in her body wouldn’t quit. Oh, how low Lord Welling must think of her. That was it. He didn't want another man’s garbage. That horrible fiend who’d taken her trust, who’d erased every easy smile since, was still with her, still cutting up her insides. She rubbed her neck, her voice filling with anguish over a nightmare that refused to go away. “Please let me go to my cabin. Jonas may have awakened with the ruckus. I won’t come out for the rest of the trip.”
“I can't let you out that door. How do I put this for your stubborn ears? If you don't look thoroughly ravished, the dogs will
be on you again. I can't beat everyone up defending you.”
There was no guile in his voice. He wanted to protect her. That silly notion made her want to cry aloud. Instead, she swiped at her nose and glanced back at him, hoping to look like stone.
His arms folded. His mouth huffed. “I’ve dumped the ringleader in the ocean. Won't be much of a crew if I have to throw them all in."
“You should. They all need a lashing for hurting women.” She covered her mouth, hating that her fingers shook. Though she wanted to lie down and sleep off the pain, she stood up straight. "I can't be here, with you looking at me. I see enough pity in the mirror some days."
“Stay until morning. You’ll be branded my woman, and left alone by the crew. Then, if you have the foolhardy notion to get some air, you can do it without fear of attack or anything that will have you swinging from the bulwark. Don't be fearful of my help.”
The pain addled her thinking, but it sure did sound as if it was important to him for her to stay. She rubbed her arm. The pain radiated, more so since she had tried to let it hang normally. “Give me another reason, one that has meaning for you."
His gaze remained steady, unflinching. “I’ve said enough.”
She shook her head, glancing at him, daring him to state his real purpose, but he refused to move. “I'll stay in my cabin until we dock at Port Elizabeth. I’ll manage in my room.”
“Your spirit is too high to be caged, but self-interest may help you make the right decision. Here’s a new bargain for you. I’ll take a year off your servitude if you stay put. It’s worth it to me to not have another confrontation with my crew.”
Was he so anxious over her safety that he’d ply her with an earlier release from their agreement? Lord Welling didn't seem fearful of his crew. And he'd tossed that big fellow as if he were paper. Perhaps, that fancy-looking man who questioned the baron before was at the root of this. Maybe more was at risk than Precious could surmise.
"Do we have a deal?"
His smile was too broad. Lord Welling's offer was cruel. Would he always search for another lever to push, another screw to turn to control her?
The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 Page 5