“What’s happened?” She narrowed her gaze. “Why, you should know better than anyone. You’ve brought a serving wench aboard to…entertain you. Everyone now knows we’re liars, and I can’t bear the shame of it.” She turned her face to the wind again. She wouldn’t allow him to see the inexplicable sadness she felt. “I care not that Portugal is but a couple of weeks’ journey from England. I refuse to stay aboard under the present circumstances.”
“A serving wench?” Sam hung his head back and laughed so hard, the sound shook the deck on which they stood. “Are you jealous, my darling daisy?” Amusement danced in his eyes.
“How dare you ask such a thing!” She twisted out of his grasp and darted toward Captain Harney, who barked orders to his crewmen.
Sam’s arm snaked around her waist and in seconds she was whirled around toward the hatch and all but carried down the stairs. Somewhere she dropped her valise.
“Unhand me, sir.”
Sam’s arm clenched tighter and his lips touched her ear. “Take care what you say.”
There was a dangerous edge in his tone that sobered Moira.
“Now, start walking toward the saloon without complaint and a smile on your face. Understand?”
She nodded, both amazed and terrified. Despite his charm and good manners, Sam was still the man who’d threatened to kill her—to drown her, if need be.
At the moment, she was certain he would do the latter if she didn’t comply.
She made quick steps to the saloon, nodding politely to the sailors she passed by.
Once inside the cabin she’d scrubbed, Sam slammed the door closed behind them. She spun on her heel to face him. Sam set down her valise and then shrugged out of his frockcoat. “This cabin smells a far sight better than any I’ve ever had the pleasure of occupying.”
Moira said nothing.
“I understand you’ve been cleaning today.”
She gave a nod when he glanced her way.
“Now, I am curious…” He folded his arms over his broad chest. “How on earth did you come up with the idea that I brought a serving wench on board?”
Moira explained how Captain Harney had mentioned Sam’s tardiness and suspected he’d frequented a pub and lost track of time. She told of Anthony’s exclamation of Sam bringing a woman on board with him—a woman with brown hair.
“I appreciate your giving me the benefit of the doubt.” Sarcasm dripped off his every word. “And now I’d like you to meet this…woman with brown hair.”
Sam opened the door and indicated she should follow. At the smaller of the two cabins off the saloon, Sam knocked on the door. The male voice bid them enter, and Sam turned the knob. The entryway soon revealed a short man wearing a brown, hooded robe.
“Moira, my darling daisy…”
Each word felt like a punch in her midsection as she stared at the new passenger.
“I’d like you to meet Brother Tobias.”
The man pushed the hood off his head, revealing a shiny, bald head. “A pleasure to meet you, madam.”
Chapter Ten
“He seems like a nice enough fellow.”
“A monk who left his monastery to sail for America with the intention of teaching school and ministering to the savages, as he calls the people of the First Nation.” Sam heaved a sigh. “He has much to learn about the Native Americans before he can reach them for the Almighty, that’s for sure.”
“But a worthy undertaking, nonetheless.” Moira’s pride lay in shreds. Obviously Anthony had mistaken Brother Tobias’s brown hood for hair when he’d seen him in the distance. He recognized Sam, but not his…guest.
And Moira had assumed the worst.
She met Sam’s stare. He leaned against the closed cabin door, arms still folded, his booted feet crossed. Obviously he was waiting for an apology.
And he deserved one.
“I’m sorry I behaved so impulsively.” She dropped her gaze. “I panicked.”
Moments of silence passed, seeming like hours.
“Do you really believe that I’d jeopardize my mission and your escape by bringing a serving wench, of all creatures, aboard this ship?”
She peeked at him. “This morning I’d have emphatically said no. But earlier, when Captain Harney guessed at the reason for your tardiness, I figured he knew you better than I did.”
“And now?”
“Now…” Moira’s emotions seemed tangled in knots. However, she knew she’d been wrong to have reckoned the worst. “I should not have jumped to conclusions.”
Sam grunted in reply and continued his hard stare. “I hoped to hear that you trust me.”
“I would have rather proved that I did in this situation.” She shrugged. “Not much of a spy, am I?”
A slight grin cracked his stony façade. “You’re the worst spy ever.”
Tears threatened, but she blinked them away.
“You’re kind, caring, and terribly honest.”
Moira frowned. “You make those attributes sound like faults.”
“In a spy’s world, they are.”
She rolled a shoulder as if she couldn’t care less.
“Now I’d like to hear from your lips three words that describe me.”
Moira lifted her chin and gave his request several moments’ thought.
Sam arched a brow. “A man deserves to know where he stands.”
“All right, then.” She pulled back her shoulders. “You’re gentlemanly, respectful, and terribly charming.” With the latter she mocked him, but regretted it almost at once. If not for Sam, she’d be readying herself for marriage to Major Joseph Nettles.
“I would like to add gallant and trustworthy to my description of you, though that’s five words not three.” She met his gaze, hoping he saw the sincerity she felt. “Gallant because you rescued me from a fate worse than death and trustworthy as you’ve not given me a reason to distrust you. I realize that now…now that I’m thinking rationally again. You’re right. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I don’t sound like much of a spy either, do I?” His stoic features gave way to a grin.
Moira stepped toward him. “So…you forgive me?”
“Of course. And let us put this matter behind us.”
“Agreed.” Relief pumped through her veins with each beat of her heart.
“I brought you gifts from the market.” Sam lifted a short stack of colorful folded fabric from off his sea chest. Moira hadn’t noticed it there until now. He placed it in her arms. “I took it upon myself to purchase materials for new gowns. It’s my fault you didn’t have time to sufficiently pack, and I’ve grown tired of seeing my wife in drab Puritan garb.”
Moira looked down at the dark-green gown she wore. She’d stuffed it and a brown one of similar style in her valise. Both garments had been given to her by someone, and she knew nothing of that person’s identity. To cover the low neckline, she habitually buttoned on the crocheted collar she’d made. Aunt Aggie had promised Moira a shopping expedition upon her betrothal to Major Nettles as if that somehow made the match more tolerable. But the trip into London never happened. The only new gown Moira acquired was the one she wore the night of her engagement party, and Aunt Aggie had selected it.
“Has my attire been that horrid?”
“I shall answer that question by stating you deserve far better.” Sam shook out one of the folded fabrics and the sunny yellow, pink, and gray print cheered the darkly-paneled cabin. “I can envision you wearing a gown of this material.” He held it to her chin and stepped back. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
“It’s lovely.”
He arched a brow as he folded the fabric. “You do know how to sew, don’t you?”
“Of course. Up until my parents perished, I made all my clothes.”
“Good, but ask Rachel for a fashionable pattern.”
“All right.” His insult, whether intended or not, stung. Even so, Sam’s observation of her rather dowdy wardr
obe caused her to see it in a different light and, oddly, a river of enthusiasm coursed through her at the thought of new gowns. “I’ve never worn such a pretty fabric.”
Sam’s smile indicated his pleasure. He shook out the second piece of fabric. Moira almost forgot she held it. “And what say you of this print?”
Moira looked over the tiny green buds against a fawn-colored background. “I like it very much.”
“The woman at the market insisted I purchase the trimmings too.” He refolded the material and set in on his sea chest. “You’re happy then?”
“Very happy.” She meant each word. “Thank you, Sam.”
“You deserve it.” He crossed the cabin and put his palms on her shoulders. “I believe your family served the Almighty sacrificially and then you witnessed more horror than any young lady ought to. Pretty fabric is the least you should have.”
Moira swallowed the sudden lump of emotion that wedged in her throat. “I don’t want your pity, Sam.”
“Good, because I’ve no pity to give.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “And here I thought the worst of you while you thought the best of me and even purchased beautiful fabrics for me.” She lowered her chin and stared at the tips of her leather booties.
Sam stepped back. “I thought we agreed to move past that matter.”
She bobbed her head. “We did, indeed.”
“Then I’d prefer a smile to a frown.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Shall we ready ourselves for dinner? Brother Tobias will be joining us and he enjoys talking.”
“As I understand it,” Moira put in quickly, glad to have a subject change, “some monks are not allowed to speak at the monastery.”
“Quite true, my darling daisy, and with my skill of extracting information, Brother Tobias shall be blabbing secrets, valuable to the United States, within an hour.”
“Do you think he knows any…secrets?”
“Perchance he’s heard some confessions.” A rather devilish gleam sparked in Sam’s blue eyes.
Moira thought that a fair possibility. “Perchance he has.”
Sam placed his hands on his hips. “In either case, I intend to find out.”
“Remember what I told you.” Sam spoke so close to Moira’s neck that his warm breath tickled.
Smiling, she gave Sam a nod then continued to watch the goings-on. Sailors ran to and fro while the captain shouted orders. Men climbed high on ratlines, each doing his part to secure the sails. Somehow Rachel had convinced the captain to drop anchor and give them a day to enjoy dry land before they caught the trade winds.
And now Moira waited her turn to descend to the long narrow boat bobbing alongside the ship.
“Anthony will climb down the ladder first.” Sam’s breath tickled her neck. “Watch how he does it.”
The boy proved no help; he descended in record time. Rachel followed.
Moira pivoted around. “Sam, I don’t think…”
“Your turn.” His expression told her he’d not allow her to get out of it.
Just as Rachel had demonstrated, Moira tied her skirts to ensure a semblance of modesty.
“Come on, Moira.” Rachel lifted a hand and beckoned to her from a plank seat on the boat below. “You can do it.”
Sam gave her a nod of encouragement and she swung her left leg over the side of the ship. He assisted her until she’d gotten a secure hold of the ropes.
As it happened, going down the ladder proved much easier than climbing up. Within minutes she dropped onto the plank bench across from Rachel and Anthony. Only seconds later, it seemed, Sam sat beside her. Moments more passed and then Captain Harney joined them, having left Mr. Jamison in charge aboard the Seahawk. Soon they were headed ashore. Beneath their feet lay paraphernalia for tent building and fire making, and Moira couldn’t help but catch the excitement of the impending holiday on a sandy beach.
Reaching the shoreline of what appeared to be an otherwise deserted island, they disembarked. The men made quick work of pitching the tent and hanging a large iron kettle a safe way off. It would do nicely for boiling the day’s catch. Then, while the men left to do their fishing, Rachel and Moira removed their shoes and stockings and gathered dried wood for their fire.
“It’s a shame that Brother Tobias couldn’t join us last night,” Rachel said, depositing an armful of kindling on the growing pile. “And this morning he said he did not feel up to a day on the beach.”
“I don’t mind saying I’m a bit concerned for him,” Moira admitted. “Last night he had a pounding headache and today he looked feverish. However, he wouldn’t allow me to come into his cabin to help, insisting whatever ailed him might be contagious.”
Frown lines appeared on Rachel’s forehead. “I pray it is not. The last thing I need is a crew of sick men.”
“Perish the thought!” Moira wondered if they’d ever reach the United States if that should occur.
“I shall do that, my new friend, leastwise for today.”
Soon a fire burned and the kettle sat ready beside it. Before long, Captain Harney, Anthony, and Sam returned with a string of fish for roasting.
“No crab?” Rachel put her hands on her curvy hips and pouted.
“Now, now, my dear…” Her husband slung one arm around her shoulders. “The fish are biting and the crabs are hiding. ’Tis the nature of it, I’m afraid.”
Sam rubbed his palms together. “May as well enjoy fresh fish today, because in a few weeks we’ll be awfully tired of beans.”
Rachel gave a toss of her head. “Not the way I make them, you won’t be.”
“Ah, I stand corrected.” Sam gave formal bow and Moira swallowed a giggle.
She sat back, her arms supporting her, and wiggled her toes in the warm sand. As long as Rachel didn’t view it as improper to be barefoot in the presence of men, Moira couldn’t see any harm in it. The skirt of her gown covered her legs. At the village in Uganda, she went without shoes and stockings quite often when playing with the children. Papa often said that subtle conformities to a particular culture, conformities that didn’t violate God’s commandments, were often a step toward acceptance by that culture.
Sam plopped down right beside her. He sat mere inches away. He, too, had removed his stockings and boots and the ends of his breeches were rolled above his knees, revealing well-developed calves. Obviously he had no need to stuff sandbags into his stockings the way some men did.
Men, perhaps, like Major Nettles. A grin worked its way across her lips.
“What amuses you, my darling daisy?” Sam whispered, leaning closer.
“Sandbags.”
“What’s so funny about sandbags?”
Moira giggled again, although she didn’t move away. Oddly, she’d grown accustomed to his nearness. Moreover, he’d become one of the best friends she’d ever known. Moving around as she and her parents did, Moira hadn’t time to make close acquaintances. But as close as she felt to Sam, she couldn’t get herself to reveal exactly what she’d found so funny. Major Nettles in sandbags.
She laughed inwardly and gave Sam a smile. “I’m enjoying my holiday. Aren’t you?”
“I am, indeed. And I’ll have you know that I caught the biggest fish.”
“Did you?”
“And the most, too.” He winked, indicating his joke.
“I heard that, you devil!” Captain Harney scowled at Sam, although it lacked its usual fierceness. “I caught the largest fish.”
“Did not,” said Anthony. “I did.”
“Now why am I apt to believe the boy?” With one dark eyebrow arched, Rachel looked from her husband to Sam while unpacking two loaves of bread.
“You believe me, Mama, cuz I don’t tell fish tales the way some sailors do.”
The captain guffawed and Sam chuckled.
“Aye.” Rachel sent a glance to the heavens.
The banter continued during the fish-roasting, feasting, and over the course of the next couple hours. A peace settled around M
oira. She couldn’t recall the last time she enjoyed relaxing.
Sam grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her to her feet. She opened her mouth to ask what he planned when he made the announcement.
“It’s time you learned to swim.”
“What?” She attempted to tug her wrist from his grasp, but Sam held on tightly and led her toward the water. “Learn to swim? I should say not!”
Anthony was beside her in seconds. “It’s easy, Miss Moira.” He jogged to catch up with Sam. “Can I show her how, Mr. Stryker?”
“You sure can. You’ll be my demonstrator.”
Anthony’s grin reflected his joy.
But Moira had no wish to be the student. “Sam, no.”
He switched hands, never releasing her wrist, and placed his arm around her waist. “I’m going to teach you how to float on your back. That way, you’ll never fear the water again, because you’ll know how to survive until help comes.”
“Please, Sam, no.” She dug her heels into the sand. “I have nightmares about drowning.”
“Yes, I’m aware of them.” His gaze locked on hers. “You talk in your sleep.”
Moira gasped. “Do I?”
At Sam’s nod, Moira’s face grew warm, and not from the sun blazing down on them.
“We won’t go into deep water, and I’ll stay right beside you.”
“Well…”
“A simple back float.”
“Look at me, Miss Moira!” Anthony lay on his back, albeit only his head was visible. “It’s easy.”
Sam stretched out his hand toward the boy. “Out of the mouths of babes.”
“I suppose I could give it at least one try.”
“That’s my girl.”
At that very moment, Moira wished it was so—that she belonged to Sam.
But it was not to be. He made that clear.
They waded out until the water came to their hips. Moira’s skirt billowed and she back-stepped to shallower water and tied her hems like she’d done to descend the rope ladder. Then she walked out to Sam. She felt the ripple of the ocean floor beneath her feet.
Sam stood at her right and placed his hand on the back of her neck. “Allow yourself to fall backwards. I’ll hold you.”
Give Me Thine Heart: A Novella Page 7