Give Me Thine Heart: A Novella

by Andrea Boeshaar

  But would he be able to keep his eyes closed for six weeks? The notion seemed impossible, especially since Sam had an affinity for the lady.

  Well, more than an affinity. He would acknowledge that much. He was attracted to her, plain and simple. She’d sparked his curiosity from the start when he’d seen her standing in the shadows, wearing an expression of misery at her betrothal celebration. When he’d danced with her and made her smile, he’d felt a great measure of success. And later, when he’d resolved to take her with him, it seemed to solve both of their dilemmas. He didn’t need to kill her and she wouldn’t be forced to marry a devilish redcoat.

  However, with those problems solved, a new one arose for Sam. One that affected his heart.

  If only he could stop thinking about it—about her. Moira. He chanced a peek at her. She’d dressed in a drab brown gown. Seconds later, she donned a lacy ivory collar which cheered her ensemble somewhat. He admired her willowy, yet decidedly feminine, figure. He enjoyed her courage and wit. What a fool Nettles had been, although his loss could well be Sam’s gain.

  Except Sam was in no position to pursue a romance. He had a job to do. His president and countrymen were counting on him.

  Now, would to God he’d get to Washington City before the British did.

  Pounding at the door brought Sam fully awake. He grinned at Moira’s startled expression.

  He clambered to his feet. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Mr. Jamison.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said softly to Moira. “The first mate.”

  “What does he want?” Moira whispered.

  Sam shrugged and tossed his pallet of blankets onto the bunk, so as not to give away their marriage scheme. “What is it, Jamison?”

  “I bring a message from the captain.”

  Wearing trousers and his un-tucked white shirt which hung to his knees, Sam collected his pistol and crossed the small cabin. He hid the weapon behind him and pulled open the door wide enough to reveal the bearded sailor on the other side.

  “Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes.” He strained to see over Sam’s shoulder without success as Sam stood taller than he did. “Your presence is requested.”

  Sam gave a nod. “We’ll be there with time to spare.”

  Moira followed Sam down the narrow companionway to the captain’s quarters. They didn’t have far to go.

  “Why, it’s on the other side of that little kitchen area we just passed.”

  “It’s referred to as the galley, my darling daisy.” Sam tossed her a grin before knocking at the captain’s cabin door.

  Young Anthony answered. “Come right in, if you please.”

  Moira smiled at the boy’s formality.

  “It’s good to see you feeling better,” the lad said. “You were looking awfully green for a while.”

  “I feel much better, thank you. You took good care of me.”

  Sam cupped her elbow and led her across the richly-paneled cabin. Two round windows appeared on the far wall and allowed in a flood of sunshine. They reached a beautiful ebony-haired woman with dancing brown eyes. “Moira, meet the best cook on the seven seas. Mrs. Rachel Harney.”

  “Such flattery, Sam.” A pretty blush crept up the sides of the woman’s face.

  Realization squeezed her gut and Moira swallowed hard. “You’re Rachel, the captain’s wife?”

  “Yes, and, I believe you’ve met Anthony.” Her tone was accented by what Moira guessed was Spanish. “He is our son.”

  “Oh…” An odd sense of relief washed over Moira. She covered her emotions by smiling at Anthony. “And a fine boy he is.”

  “Aye, and we’re proud of him.” Mrs. Harney’s thick hair was folded into a braid and, similar to Moira’s, it hung down her back. “I hope the two of us will become good friends. I already adore your husband, because it’s so much fun to feed him.” She gazed at Sam, but Moira saw no special or come-hither sparks.

  “What can I say?” Sam lifted his shoulders. “I’m a growing boy and you’re a marvelous cook.”

  Moira suddenly understood last night’s pre-bedtime visit to Rachel.

  The woman appeared quite pleased by the compliment. “Between you and Anthony I barely leave the galley.” Her smile widened and her gaze fixed on Moira. “Do you cook, Mrs. Stryker?”

  It took a heartbeat for her to realize Mrs. Harney addressed her. “Oh, yes, actually. I know my way around cooking fire and brick oven, although I fear the meals I prepare are merely adequate.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you’ll starve to death, Sam.” Chuckling, Captain Harney crossed the large cabin and clapped Sam on the back. Next he politely greeted Moira and then introduced his first mate, Mr. Jamison, and a couple other crewmen. “Let’s be seated, shall we?” He rubbed his palms together. “I despise a cold breakfast.”

  “Everything is ready, my husband.” Rachel instructed a young dark-skinned man with straight black hair to commence serving the food. And then, when her expressive dark eyes met the captain’s, something passed between them, something raw and undefined, and yet Moira had seen it before between lovers. How fortunate for Rachel that her husband openly adored her.

  And, in that moment, Moira gained a healthy respect for the captain of the Seahawk. ’Twas a good man, indeed, who didn’t hide his love for his wife. Papa cherished Mum, but he and Captain Harney were a rare breed. Most men, it seemed, equated such affection with weakness and considered marriage to be agreements of acquisition instead of the binding together of two hearts made whole.

  Moira startled, feeling pressure on her elbow.

  Sam stood beside her. “Shall we?” He indicated to the linen tablecloth with its many place settings.

  “Thank you.” She sent him a smile as he politely seated her.

  He then took the chair to her right.

  Anthony plopped himself into the chair on her left.

  “A prayer of thanks, if you’ll all bow your heads.” Standing at the head of the table, the captain said grace.

  And, oddly, for the first time since her parents perished, Moira felt like she…belonged.

  Chapter Nine

  Near the railing at the side of the ship, Moira watched the goings-on beside Rachel. After ten long days, the Seahawk anchored off the Porto de Lisboa at last. The passengers who’d sailed as far as Portugal were ferried ashore by crewmen. Sam had decided he’d go ashore too, with hopes of finding a newspaper or hearing updates on the war between England and the Colonies.

  “A beautiful day,” Rachel remarked, lifting her face to the sunshine.

  “Indeed.” Moira saw Sam wave and replied in kind just before a hefty breeze blew strands of hair onto her face and across her eyes. She brushed them back with her fingers.

  “I don’t think I have ever seen two people more in love.” Rachel’s voice was as smooth as butter.

  “Which two people?” Moira turned to her new friend.

  “Why, you and Sam, of course.”

  The words took root and jumbled Moira’s thoughts. “Sam and I?” In the last two weeks, she’d wished it were true, that she really was Sam Stryker’s wife. He’d been a complete gentleman and treated her with respect. Moira felt she knew him better than almost anyone alive, and she’d grown quite fond of him. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes, of course.” Rachel laughed as if Moira’s response tickled her to the core. “Who else would I be speaking of? There’s no other couple on board except Bob and me, and I don’t know how we appear to others.”

  Moira smiled. “You and Captain Harney look very happy together.”

  “Likewise..” Rachel gave her a playful jab and laughed again.

  Despite her smiles, Moira felt a tweak of conscience. Rachel, too, had become dear to her, and Moira hated the deceit.

  “Come, let’s move your belongings out of the first mate’s cabin and into a larger, more comfortable one. Mr. Jamison will want his room back, now that the other passengers have debarked.”

  Mo
ira followed Rachel below deck. She’d hoped Sam would have confessed his lies to the captain by now and explained their situation so they could sleep in separate cabins. However, Sam said it was too late for confessions; they’d have to live with the lie until they reached America. As for disembarking here at Port Lisbon, Sam advised against it. It wasn’t far enough away from England, and Uncle Tyrus and Nettles would find her for sure. She’d pay dearly, Sam predicted, for no other reason than she’d taken her money from whence came their…livelihoods.

  A shiver coursed through her.

  “Are you cold, Miss Moira?” Anthony had been given leave to use her first name, although his mother insisted upon a semblance of formality. Now he tailed them and had obviously witnessed her reaction to Sam’s foresight. “Seems to me it’s rather hot and stuffy down here.”

  “No, no…I’m not cold at all. In fact, I rather agree with your assessment of the stale air.”

  “We’ll open the port window at the saloon,” Rachel said, leading the way down the dimly lit companionway. The only source of light came from the open hatch above. “Of course, it’s not much of a saloon, I’m afraid.”

  “I wouldn’t know the difference.”

  Rachel led her into what appeared to be a community room, with a long plank table running down the center. Four small cabins and one larger one opened from off its circumference. “Quite often the crew makes use of this room, with their chess games and rum-drinking, and such. But when we have passengers aboard, the men keep to the steerage area.”

  “I see.”

  Rachel lit a lamp then whirled around. “If I recollect, Sam said you’d once sailed before.”

  “Yes, but I was in a state of shock, or so a doctor has told me.” Moira hugged herself. “I remember very little about the voyage. Then one day I awoke in a chamber in my uncle’s home upon a padded mattress, surrounded by pretty papered walls. I had no idea how I’d gotten there. That was last September.”

  Rachel pulled her close. “How tragic about your parents and your conniving relatives. But, thankfully, you now have Sam.”

  “Yes, thankfully.” Another pinch of conscience.

  Rachel’s smile rivaled the lamplight. “I’m still trying to figure out how you and Sam ended up marrying.”

  “A very long story.” And one Moira didn’t wish to tell. Better to allow Sam to devise the tale.

  “Sam said the same thing. I would enjoy hearing it someday.”

  “Perhaps someday you will.”

  Rachel strode to a door at the end of the saloon and opened it. “Here’s your new cabin. I suggest giving it a good scrubbing before you move in. Anthony and I will help.”

  “No need.” Moira pushed up the sleeves of her dark-green gown. “I’m happy to do all the scrubbing. It makes me feel useful.”

  “Well, I do have chores in the galley…”

  “Then you should see to those and leave the cabin scrubbing to me.”

  “Very well.” Rachel lit another lamp. “I shall have Anthony bring in the supplies.” With that, she left, making her way through the saloon to the companionway.

  Moira glanced around. The cabin was, indeed, larger than the one she and Sam presently occupied, but the fact that they were to continue sharing one was disappointing. Sam’s snoring practically shook the rafters and he complained that she moaned, groaned, and mumbled in her sleep.

  Actually, it wasn’t so much a complaint as it was an expression of concern and Moira was forced to admit to having occasional nightmares. Sometimes it seemed they wanted to suck her into the dark, distorted underworld from whence they’d come, and she had to struggle to stay among the living. When she awoke, her hair and bedclothes were damp from the imagined tussle.

  Moira clutched the silver cross that hung around her neck and pulled her thoughts back to the present. She took to exploring the other cabins and wondered if Sam would mind sleeping in one of them. She would even give him the choice of the larger of the cabins. Perhaps she’d scrub another one up too, just in case.

  Anthony brought in a pail filled with soapy water, a mop, and a rag. Moira got to work. She scrubbed every nook and cranny and by the time she was finished the wood gleamed and a pleasant smell of the lemony oil she’d used on the furniture floated into the saloon. Setting down the pail, she debated whether to scrub another cabin as a favor to the Harneys. Some time later, the captain sauntered in with Rachel on his heels.

  “Mrs. Stryker,” he began, his hands folded behind his back, “I wonder if you might know the reason for your husband’s tardiness. He should have been back long ago.”

  “I haven’t a clue.” Wild thoughts scampered across her mind. A drink somewhere? A large-bosomed serving wench on his lap? Not likely, knowing what she did of Sam. But what if he behaved as wretchedly as Uncle Tyrus and Major Nettles? He did, after all, know details of their wrongdoings.

  Captain Harney came forward and put his hands on Moira’s shoulders. “Now, now, don’t frown so hard, my dear. I’m sure no harm has come to him. We’ll wait an hour more, but that’s all I can spare.”

  Moira forced the corners of her mouth to form a smile. “What if he doesn’t show up in an hour? What if something’s happened to him?”

  “I’ve got a man on shore who is looking for him.” Captain Harney let his hands drop to his sides. “But methinks, knowing Sam as I do, he most likely got…distracted inside the nearest pub.”

  He snorted a laugh and Rachel gave his shoulder a shove. A mask of seriousness fell over his weathered features. “He’ll turn up, Mrs. Stryker. Don’t you worry.”

  The couple left the saloon, leaving Moira with her thoughts. So her wild ideas hadn’t been so wild after all. Was Sam Stryker a womanizing rake? Moira supposed most men were—except Papa. He was ever devoted to Mum.

  Moira lowered herself onto a nearby bench and wondered why she should even care if Sam was a lady’s man or not. What business was it of hers? Sam was a handsome, unattached male. A spy for the American Colonies. Once they reached the shores of the United States, Moira would be on her own. She’d been searching her mind for a position she might look for, preferably as a governess or teacher…or a shopkeeper’s assistant as she was quite capable with figures. Suffice it to say, Sam’s bargain with her had its limits.

  Anthony burst into the room, giving Moira a start.

  “Mr. Sam’s on his way to the ship right now and he’s bringing a woman with him.”

  “A woman?”

  “Looks like she’s got brown hair, but I didn’t get a close enough look.”

  Brown, black, what did it matter? “Thank you, Anthony.”

  The boy took off and Moira’s heart dropped to her knees. Obviously, Sam decided to tell the Harneys the truth. Feelings of shame plumed inside of her. She’d lied to the Harneys just the same as Sam did. She was equally as guilty and stood to lose both Rachel’s friendship and trust. And Sam? He obviously hadn’t given Moira a second thought.

  But had she really believed he would? A daisy. One in a million in the meadow of life. That’s all she was. Nothing special.

  Then why did she feel as glum as the day Uncle Tyrus announced she was betrothed to Major Nettles?

  Moira carried the pail and mop up to the first mate’s cabin. She packed Sam’s things into his sea chest and then folded her meager articles of clothing into her valise. She caught the attention of a passing crewman and asked if their belongings could be taken to the saloon. The crewman was kind enough to take up the matter himself. He swung Sam’s chest up and onto one broad shoulder. Moira kept her valise with her. She then set to the task of scrubbing the cabin. About halfway through, Mr. Jamison, the first mate, showed up. His bushy eyebrows shot up when he glimpsed Moira on her knees, scrub brush in hand.

  “I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

  “Ye don’ have to be cleaning my cabin, Missus.” He came forward and hauled Moira to her feet.

  “I only meant to repay your kindness of allowing Sam and me to ma
ke use of it.”

  “Not necessary, ma’am. I didn’t have much choice in the matter.” His voice lacked inflection. “You go on, now. I’ll finish up here.”

  With a hand on her shoulder blade he walked her—pushed her, actually—to the door. Moira barely had a chance to grab her valise before the cabin door closed behind her with a decided bang.

  She stared at the wooden door, wondering if the truth was out now and the Harneys as well as the crew of the Seahawk knew she was nothing more than a liar. Perchance they thought her a loose woman. After all, she’d shared a cabin with a man who wasn’t her husband. Nothing romantic had happened between Sam and her, but the crew didn’t know that.

  Moira’s throat constricted with raw emotion and she decided she’d disembark here in Portugal. She had her possessions in hand and her money on her person. How could she bear another four or five weeks aboard a ship where her reputation was thoroughly ruined?

  Slowly, Moira made her way down the companionway, toward the hatch. She climbed the steps, thankful that the sea wind quickly dried the tears that had gathered in her eyes. She blinked and looked about for the captain.

  “There you are!”

  Sam’s voice swung her around.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His blue eyes snapped with something akin to excitement. “I’ve brought aboard someone I want you to meet.”

  “No thank you.” The last thing she wanted was to meet his new…companion. “But I do wonder what you’ve told the Harneys.”

  A frown creased his forehead.

  “Never mind. I probably shan’t see them ever again. I’m disembarking here—if the captain will allow it, of course. I think it’s for the best, at least for me.”

  “You want to get off?” Sam’s palm wrapped around her elbow and he pulled her closer and out of the way of crewmen who’d begun scurrying about. “We’re pulling up anchor right now.”

  “Then I’d best hurry.” She pulled free, intending to find the captain.

  “Moira, what’s happened?” Sam reclaimed her elbow and stood mere inches away. He reeked of tobacco and ale. “Tell me.”