by C. K. Brooke
She came to a staggering halt, choking on the final word. She desperately wished she could swallow it all back. For, seated around his grand dining table was not only the captain, but nearly a dozen members of his crew.
Chapter 9
Abi felt her face flame. Surely its scarlet hue clashed against her hair and gown. Though mortification was an understatement, it gave way to some relief as she found the mariners to be engrossed in various conversations, with no one giving any indication of having heard her.
“Ah, Abigail!” Captain Morrow waved her over, rising to his sturdy feet. To his right sat the first mate, Mr. Calahad, chewing the end of his briar pipe. The older man glanced up and, taking in Abi, hastened to stand as well.
The others, noticing her, subsided in their chatter and arose. She blushed at their approving nods and murmurs, before looking across to Captain Morrow. He appraised her silently as she came to the empty chair at his left, wondering what he could be thinking. It felt like an eternity as she approached under his close gaze, fleeting traces of what may have been pride or intrigue meeting his face, and leaving it just as soon.
He pulled out the chair for her. Straightening her dress behind her knees, Abi carefully sat. As Morrow tucked in her seat, the others also resumed their chairs. Beneath all the rustling and voices resuming their discussions, the captain whispered meaningfully in her ear, “You are radiant.”
Abi’s hands melded to her lap. There was no mistaking the desire and admiration in his voice. She wished more than ever that they could be alone, not surrounded by men. But she took her meal with them, going along with the busy banter, all the while unable to help but notice how frequently the captain’s eyes shifted to her.
She took a sip of wine and caught him studying her, drinking her in as deeply as she drank from her glass, as though she was as delicious as the vine’s fruit. And so she too indulged herself. When she felt sure no one else was paying attention, she matched his stare, appreciating the firm set of his jaw, how smooth his scalp looked, and conversely, how coarse his hardworking hands.
When the meal had ended, the men pitched in to help Cook clear their places, and Abi was no exception. She helped pass down plates and cutlery and loaded them onto Cook’s wooden cart, which he rolled away. The sailors bade each other a good evening, preparing to swap shifts for the night and retreating to their various corners of the ship.
As the last of them was leaving, Captain Morrow found Abi waiting near the door. She was sorry the night should end so soon, with so few words exchanged between them, but hoped for the chance to at least say goodnight.
She lowered her head as he approached. “Thank you for the invitation tonight, sir.”
“Likewise, for yer company,” he returned. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a rasp. “I had the fortune of overhearing your opening remarks this evening. If ye’ll excuse the delay, I’d like to take up your offer, after I see to my nightly duties.”
Abi’s stomach plunged to her knees and back. She had thought she’d saved face, gotten away with her embarrassing blunder at the top of the evening! She was wrong.
“Please, stay here and await me,” he murmured. “I might be late, but you’re free to doze.” He indicated the red curtain, behind which she knew his bed was concealed. “I promise to arouse you.”
With that final vow, he departed his quarters, leaving Abi aflame with anticipation.
***
A cool front blended with the summer night as they sailed northeast of Boston. Captain Morrow had finished exchanging words with the night lookout, and presently joined Calahad at the helm. It was too cloudy for stars, but the moon was ripe.
Calahad dipped chilly hands into his pockets. “Have you decided yet where we’re sailing?” he inquired covertly.
James checked his compass, pretending not to have heard. He didn’t want to ignore his first mate; only, he wasn’t sure how to answer the question.
Calahad clearly knew better. He went on, correctly assuming that the captain was listening. “Still no word out of her? Do you get the feeling she knows anything at all?”
The captain contemplated his captive, her sun-kissed complexion and ruby hair, her sugary voice both pleasing and unusual…and the words that emerged from those salmon-pink lips when she’d made her entrance into his cabin that night. God, she looked stunning. Had she meant what she said? And what had spurred such an enticing suggestion?
“Captain?”
Morrow turned, finally meeting Calahad’s attentive eyes. The old man looked almost sorry, but Morrow knew that he, himself, was the one who ought to be sorry. Calahad had been aiming to retire from his work at sea; this expedition was to be his last. But it had lasted five years, and still going. And Morrow still hadn’t found what he was after. He knew what his crew must be thinking. How much longer would he keep them on his fruitless hunt?
Either way, they were too loyal to quit on him. And they were holding out for their reward, whenever he should succeed.
“Are you at least making progress with her?” Calahad pressed him delicately.
Progress? Abigail Clear could very well be waiting for him in his bed as they spoke. Captain Morrow felt positively jittery, as though he was still a lad. Would she be there when he returned? How he longed to feel a woman’s form against him…and her taut, little round one would be perfect too. She had a dab of meat on her, just how he liked. The man lost himself, picturing the curves of which he yearned to take hold.
Despite the cool air, he blotted his forehead with his kerchief. At the sight of Calahad expecting his response, he finally answered, “I think so.”
Calahad looked approving. From his jacket, he removed his favored pipe and wooden snuff box. “You know, I think Captain Clear was telling the truth when he said the treasure wasn’t on his ship.” He added a pinch of tobacco to the pipe, and lit it on a nearby sconce. “He wouldn’t have kept it stowed all this time. Though I wonder how much his daughter really knows.” He inhaled. “Charismatic, isn’t she? She’ll charm you if you’re not careful.”
Morrow adjusted the great wheel. “I am being careful, Calahad. That’s why I’m going so easy on her. If I caused her to hate me, fer what reason would she ever tell me where the Spanish Treasure lies?”
“And if she truly doesn’t know?”
“Then she’ll know where to seek her pa. She’s lived with him her whole life. She’s bound to be familiar with his haunts an’ habits.” Badly as he needed the treasure, Morrow was just as hell-bent on encountering Abner Clear himself. It was personal.
And yet…the unexpected sensations building within him for Clear’s daughter were threatening everything. Even if he should have his fun with the girl, he mustn’t let it interfere with his plan. His future—and that of his whole crew—depended on it.
“Captain?” Calahad lowered his pipe. “You seem…ill at ease. Are you fatigued, mayhap?”
James said nothing.
“Why do you not retire? The ship is becalmed, for now. If need be, I can fetch you.”
Morrow could think of nothing more he’d rather do than return to his cabin, though not for sleep. “You’re right, Calahad,” he muttered distractedly. His thoughts were stuck on Abigail and the wild wondering what might transpire that night, should he find her upon his return. “I s’pose I shall.”
His first mate gave him a respectful salute as Morrow departed across the forecastle.
***
Abi scratched the quill over the parchment, shading in a corner. She had added a few final touches, but wasn’t yet finished when the door creaked open. She looked up as the captain entered, far sooner than she’d been expecting. Abi dropped the quill onto the bureau and hurried to flip over the paper.
Alas, she wasn’t quick enough. James Morrow examined her from the doorway, as she remained seated in his desk chair. He scratched his neck. “Well, of all the places I expected to find you, at my desk wasn’t one o’ them.”
Abi got to her feet, d
iscreetly slipping the parchment from the desktop with her.
“What were you writing?” He indicated the page she was trying to steal.
Blast. “Er, I can’t really write,” she admitted. “I was only sketching.”
“May I see?”
Abi clutched it to her chest.
He kept his distance, remaining in the doorway. “So, you enjoy sketching?”
“When I can get supplies. You know as well as I how monotonous life on a ship can become.” She smiled somewhat. “Over the years, I’ve learned how to draw the ocean, the masts, my father’s crew…” She emerged from behind the bureau, still holding her work to her breast. If only she would have known how soon he’d be returning, she wouldn’t have gotten herself into such an awkward predicament.
Captain Morrow closed the door, shutting her in. “Please, may I see?” He stepped forward. “You’ve inflamed my curiosity.”
Abi shook her head.
A teasing smile played at his mouth. “I only wish t’ see if you’re any good,” he cajoled, reaching for the page.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted, ducking away, but the paper slipped from her fingers as she did and floated to the floor.
The captain stooped to pick it up before Abi had the chance to swipe it back.
“Give it,” she snapped, holding out her hand and praying he wouldn’t peek. But the man only looked fascinated, rising to his full height and holding the page to the lantern light. Her neck warmed furiously.
His brows came together while his eyes did not leave the page. “This is…how you see me?”
Abi wrung her wrists. Of everyone, why had she chosen to idly draw him?
Of course, she knew why. He was all that was on her mind of late. She’d had to express it somehow. But now, she regretted it. Would he be offended? Her lack of skill could never do him justice, after all.
“Why,” a tiny grin punctuated his face—one of the rarer, genuine ones, “I look kingly.”
Abi had drawn exactly what had been on her heart. It was the captain’s likeness, wherein she’d tried to capture the regal, unflinching command in his eyes, the strength of his pose.
“Yer artwork is stellar. Miss Clear.” His eyes didn’t divert from the sketch. “I’d like to hire you to create a portrait.”
“I just have,” said Abi, bemused.
“Not of me.” He looked up at her. “A self-portrait, of you. Looking as lovely as ye do tonight. So that I may look upon it whenever I want.”
A million nerves in Abi’s body buzzed, and her gut gave the swooping sensation of bobbing over a singularly choppy wave. “I shall think on it.”
“What is your price?”
“Is setting me free too much to ask?”
“I fear it is.”
Abi sighed, and thought. “Next time one of your crew should play his fiddle,” she decided, “I’d…rather like to be asked to dance. There is my price.” Shyly, she turned to leave.
Morrow blocked her path. “Well, hang on.” He rested his portrait down. “What was this business of offering to abandon our supper for my bed this evening, hmm?” He hiked an eyebrow.
“You must’ve misheard me,” answered Abi automatically. “I was hungry. I don’t recall what I said.”
“Oh, but I do,” he whispered.
Deliberately, the man stepped in. Abi was stunned as he curled a tremendous arm around her. With his other arm, he tucked her safely in his embrace. Her heart hammered as her own arms had no place to wrap but around his neck. Could this be happening?
“And I’m starved,” he breathed, drawing his face down to hers. Abi’s disbelieving eyes swooped shut as she felt the tickle of his mouth against her bottom lip. She trembled as his tongue, warm and moist, traced the shape of her mouth. Gently, it dipped between her lips and breached its way inside.
With relish, he kissed her. Their lips moved together, the velvet warmth of his tongue exploring hers. A large, firm hand coursed its way up her waist, past her abdomen. It parked on the side of her breast. Abi moaned into his mouth. He wove his left hand into her hair, massaging her scalp, while his right charted her breast over her dress, snagging at the lace and threatening to damage it.
Abi went limp, as though falling into a dream. She squeezed the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. She gasped for air as his mouth consumed hers, his hungry hands dragging up and down her sides. They claimed her hips, her buttocks…
She tore away, swallowing her breath. It was happening too fast. Though she seared with longing, she couldn’t relinquish her virtue to this man—not yet. Not when his intentions were still ambiguous, and she was so unsure.
Her heart throbbed in her mouth when she finally choked, “I must go.” Without looking back, Abi wrenched open the door and dashed out.
Chapter 10
It was a long time before the young woman could lull herself to sleep. Abi’s lips were raw where she’d been kissed, for the very first time. Over and over, she reimagined the scene in the captain’s cabin as though it was a favorite tale, from which she might extract new meaning with each retelling.
Alas, no matter how many times she summoned back the sensation of Captain Morrow’s firm hand squeezing her backside, or reveled in the fresh memory of his solid chest up against hers, her certainty of his intentions wavered.
On the one hand, there was no denying his passion. In fact, if Abi hadn’t been so quick to regain control and flee him, she was quite sure the man would’ve made love to her. And dare she confess she might have immensely enjoyed it?
Yet, on the other, hadn’t it seemed his idea all along—to sweeten and seduce her, in hopes she’d reveal the knowledge he wanted? And it had been her goal as well, in reverse, to charm him into relenting.
Abi was torn. She was desperate to believe James Morrow’s kiss, his gifts, and the new sparkle in his eyes when he beheld her, were true. But the more she mulled it over, lying awake that night in the little supply closet, the more the evidence was stacking against him.
And her.
Because, in the end, they were only deceiving each other. And now, Abi ran the risk of deceiving herself. What had she done?
Though it pained her, she came to terms with what she must do. She had to find a way off of The Indomitable…immediately.
***
The sky sprawled overhead, a thick gray sheet blocking the sun’s rays. In the air, Abi recognized a static tension. The ocean below was placid—unusually so. She knew what that meant.
“It’ll be a doozy,” she overheard Shellig telling his comrades. The privateers were assembled on the poop deck, cupping hands over their eyes as they peered into the film of haze concealing the sun.
Abi studied the distance as they sailed north along the Atlantic. Though it was cloudy, she could make out a dense shadow on the horizon. She wished she had Sorley’s spyglass for a better look. But something about the shadow seemed quite familiar.
She took in a breath, her knuckles blanching over the wooden rail as she clenched it. It was land ahead, not the coast, but an island. And it wasn’t just any island…but one she was almost certain she knew.
Her heart pounded behind her bodice as the crewmen disassembled and set to their diverse tasks. She regarded the eerily sound waters again, her leg twitching beneath her skirts. Dared she raise it and attempt to jump? Surely not; she ought to wait until they drew closer to the island. She couldn’t swim for so many leagues, she reminded herself, especially not when a storm was nigh. She would simply have to bide her time and hope the captain wouldn’t change course.
Abi stepped down, her cheeks hot in the balmy breeze at the thought of Captain Morrow. With a mixture of guilt and sentiment, she traced her lips with her fingertip. She shouldn’t have let things slip so easily out of her grasp the night before, shouldn’t have succumbed to her own intrigue and attraction. Morrow wanted her father to hang. Their differences could never be reconciled.
A single drop of water soaked into her cream-co
lored sleeve. Abi examined the wrist of her tunic as another droplet settled in her hair. A deep, intimidating rumble reverberated over the sea. Behind the expanses of cloud, a glow of lightning shivered.
Her skirts swept the planks as she ascended to the quarterdeck. Overhead, the mainsail flapped noisily. So determined was she to reach her destination, she barely noticed a solid figure emerging from the shadows until it nearly collided with her.
“Abigail.” Large hands steadied her, pressing into her upper arms, and Abi gasped. She looked up into the concerned face of Captain Morrow. Something plummeted in her stomach that she suspected had little to do with the oncoming tempest. “You ought to be gettin’ yerself downstairs,” he told her.
She swallowed. “Sir, is there anything I can do to help?”
“My boys and I will take care of it.”
She stole a peek over his shoulder. A steady rain began to trickle from the clouds, and she wiped some from her eyelashes. Two rowboats, one mid-sized and the other quite tiny, hung by tightly-knotted rope over the edge of the quarterdeck. She’d noticed them before, but never had use for them, seeing that she had been smack in the middle of the ocean. Yet, now that an island was in sight…
“Abigail?”
Her eyes shot back to Captain Morrow. She didn’t want to look into his face again, though. Memories from the previous night were already making their interaction awkward enough. Instead, she studied his neck, growing damp from the rainfall. “Erm, yes, I’ll go down.” She cleared her throat. “I just need some…air first, before it picks up.”
The captain looked as though he might say more. Abi prayed he wouldn’t. She couldn’t bear a conversation, an apology—any acknowledgment of the previous night’s encounter, really. Especially not then.
At last, Morrow lowered his head and moved past her. Exhaling, Abi stepped up to the quarterdeck. The planks were slick under her boots, slippery beneath the hem of her new skirt. Another feather of guilt tickled her. What of her fine clothing from the captain? This was how she would repay him?