****
Terrance sat in the large stuffed chair of Braiton’s cabin and looked at him with weary eyes. Slowly, the physician took a sip of whiskey from the glass. “How many times have I examined you, m’lord, in the years since you were a lad?”
Braiton pulled his shirt over his shoulders. “I can scarcely count them, Terry, but each time I held my breath for a positive result.”
Terrance sighed. “Aye, ’tis good when the news is positive.”
He searched the other man’s face. “What is it, Terry? Have you bad news for me this time around?” He moved closer. “I have a right to know if I’m falling apart.”
Terrance placed his glass on a nearby table. “You’re far from fallin’ apart, m’lord. In fact you’re the perfect picture o’ health. I’m quite sure you’ll surpass us all,” he added.
“Then why the grim face?” He took a seat beside Terrance and buttoned his shirt. “Saints preserve us, man, you look as though you’ve been up all night.”
Terrance rubbed his fingers over red-rimmed eyes. “That’s because I have been up all night, m’lord and right now me eyes burn with exhaustion.”
His voice softened. “Why, Terry?”
Terrance sighed again, heavier this time. “Do you remember me tellin’ you about our wee stowaway?”
“Aye, the young lass who mistook our ship for one she was supposed to board for England.”
Terrance nodded. “Well, she’s not as wee a lass as I led you to believe.”
Braiton frowned. “How old is she?”
“Oh, in my opinion, near to her twenties.”
He stood, reached for the whiskey bottle and refilled Terrance’s glass. “Suppose you tell me the whole story.”
Terrance thanked him with a slight nod of his head and took a sip. “I’ll start with her name, a beautiful name actually.” He cocked his head sideways. “Raven she’s called. Raven Amelia Eagle and she’s an Apache lass. Her virtue was compromised by an agent who brought food to her village. Unbeknown to her, she became with child.” Terrance’s eyes saddened. “She miscarried last night.”
His mouth dropped open as Terrance’s words hit a recollection he held vivid in his mind, and for a long moment he just stared ahead speechless. When he could finally speak, the words were a mere whisper. “And how is she now?”
The doctor arched a brow. “Not good, m’lord, ’tis why I’ve been up all night.”
“What’s still ailing her, Terry? Is she hemorrhaging?”
“Nay, m’lord, the bleedin’, thank the Lord, is under control. ’Tis a fever troublin’ her body now. I’m afraid the damp servant’s quarters aren’t helpin’ her condition,” Terrance explained. “She’s been accustomed to a dryer climate. Even though Arizona nights can get cold, they aren’t as damp as what she’s experiencin’ here. The poor lass can’t stop shiverin’, the dampness penetratin’ through to her very bones.”
“Have her brought up to this cabin, Terry,” he said, going over to the bed and straightening the quilt. “She should be warm enough here.”
“Nay, m’lord, surely not your bed?” Terrance protested. “I’ll have the cabin boy bring her cot up for her.”
“I said she takes the bed,” he said firmly. “I will use the cot.” He gestured to the portal. “Now, off with you, man. Let’s get the lass well again.”
****
Raven ran through the brush with Sunny, laughing and enjoying the warmth of the noon sun, high and blazing in the sky. Then, in an instant the sun disappeared, surrounding her with a cold, lonely darkness. Frantic, she searched for her sister, but Sunny was nowhere to be found. In the distance she heard her name being called, the voice soft, deep. Where had she heard this voice before?
Opening her eyes, she focused on the face of the man bending over her. The kind, strange green eyes twinkled, a slow smile spread beneath the mustache.
“Welcome aboard my ship, lass,” he said, covering her hand with the warmth of his own.
She looked around the room, confused. “This is your ship?”
“Aye, you’re aboard The Sweet Maureen.”
She took an audible breath. “Then you…you are the Lord of Limerick?”
“Aye, Lord Braiton Shannon.” He inclined his head. “At your service.”
Again she looked around the spacious room. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my cabin.”
She pulled her hand from beneath his and brought the quilt up to her chin. “And this…this is your bed?”
“Aye, lass, ’tis much warmer for you here than below.”
She cleared her throat. “And where have you slept?”
He chuckled, the cleft in his chin dimpling. “Have not a fear, only the quilt kept you warm.” He pointed to a cot set up in the sitting area of the cabin. “There is where I took my slumber.”
She sat up, leaning on her elbows, to get a better view of the splendid quarters. “How long have I kept you from your bed?”
He fluffed the pillow behind her head. “Three days.”
“I am so sorry I have troubled you,” she said, lying back down.
“’Tis no trouble, lass.” His eyes saddened. “The good doctor Murphy explained your circumstances. I am truly sorry for all you’ve been through and wish now for you to be well.”
Humiliation coursed through her body. She turned away from him, rolling onto her side, burying her face into the pillow. Tears stung her eyes, wetting the clean white linen.
His weight jiggled the bed, and a gentle hand touched her shoulder. Slowly, he turned her to look at him.
“’Tis no reason to be ashamed, lass.” He pushed aside a long strand of hair clinging to a moist cheek. “The shame belongs on the head of the man who so ruthlessly took what wasn’t his.” For a moment his eyes grew hard, the muscles at his jaw throbbed. “He’s fortunate I know nothing of his whereabouts, for I’d make him pay for what he’s done.”
She believed he would, remembering the way, with one command; he saved her from Baxter’s clutches in Silver City.
“But I’m sure your father already has,” he added.
She sighed. “He would have, if he knew.”
“And why doesn’t he know, lass?” He softened his tone. “If you were my daughter ’twould be my right to know, to avenge your honor.”
“And that is exactly why I did not tell him.”
He frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, lass.”
She gazed deep into his emerald eyes. “No, I suppose you do not, then again, how could you? I am sure all your life you have been able to live and speak and do exactly as you please.” He opened his mouth to respond to her words, but she held up a hand to silence him. “I mean you no disrespect. But you do not understand the circumstances my people live with.”
“Then tell me.”
“My village was taken over by the white agents. Nothing belonging to my people is theirs anymore. We are robbed of our goods and our dignity. And if any of us fight for our rights, we are beaten or hanged.”
Braiton again laid a hand on hers, the warmth of his touch sending heat waves through her body. “And so you feared for your father’s safety?”
“For his life,” she said, glancing down at his hand. His fingers were long; the nails clean and clipped evenly. “As chief he is a very proud leader. He would take a stand against the white agents. I could not allow them to take his life.”
“And what of your mother, lass?”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “I believe deep down she figured out what happened, and that is why she sent her children to England.”
He smiled. “She sounds very protective of her family.”
“She is, and I know she kept quiet for the same reason I did.”
Tenderness filled his eyes. “Do you remember your last words to me, lass?”
She frowned confused. “My last words?”
“Aye, in Silver City, before you disappeared around the landing. You said you hoped we’d liv
e to meet again.”
She smiled. “Yes, I remember.”
“And we have.” He arched a brow. “It seems you have a knack for being where you shouldn’t, and me for rescuing you.”
“I owe you much, for then and now. I am grateful for all you have done, and do not wish to be any further trouble.”
“I’m not worried, lass.”
“I gave my word I would work to pay for my passage, so in the morning I will return to the galley and help Molly.”
He frowned. “You’re not in any condition to move from this bed or to labor at chores.”
“But I gave my word, and I always keep—”
This time he silenced her words by placing a fingertip on her lips. “Since we’re old acquaintances from our Silver City days, I must insist you be my guest for the remainder of the voyage.”
“You are very kind, sir, and I thank you, but I will keep my agreement and work for my food and passage. All I ask is your help in sending word to England when we dock.”
Braiton took in the deep golden brown of her flesh and the sheen of her dark hair laying in disarray against the white linens. He admired her determination, her honesty, spirit, and the strong sense of pride flickering through her intense, blue eyes.
Women he knew were frail and dependent. Featherheads, he called them, only concerned with the latest fashion. They sat in their gowns like stiff stone statues, not a curl out of place. They’d never dream of getting their hands dirty. But this fresh young beautiful lass lying in his bed was warm and genuine, full of life and wanting to live every moment of it. She denied the luxury he offered to stay duty bound by an agreement. She honored her word, and he would honor her in return.
“That is all I ask,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “That you send word to my family.”
He nodded. “I’m acquainted with Captain Rafe Cavendish of the vessel The Entrenous.” He raised a brow. “Which was the ship you should have boarded. ’Twill be no trouble to contact him when we reach Ireland.”
She gave him a satisfied nod.
“But now, lass, might I ask something of you?”
“And what might that be, sir,” she muttered a bit uneasily.
“I can tell you assume the request is that of a blackguard.” He rose from the bunk.
“I did not mean…”
He stood looking down at her. “If I had cared to, lass, I could have taken my pleasure from your womanly charms while you raged in fever. You would’ve been none the wiser.”
Her eyes widened, and she pulled the quilt up to her chin.
“And you hide nothing from me beneath that coverlet, for ’twas I who tended you these past three days.” He moved to the foot of the bunk. “Did you know you have a tiny crescent shaped birthmark right on–”
“You have made your point clear, sir,” she interjected. “If you wanted to shame me, you have done so.”
“Nay, lass, ’twas not my intent,” he corrected. “And I beg your pardon if I have. I only wished to prove to you I am not a man who would abuse a woman.”
“Then you are like my father and brother,” she countered.
He smiled. “If they are gentlemen, then aye, I’m just like them.”
“They have always prided themselves as honorable men, respectful to women,” she said. “And I have never seen them be otherwise.”
“I was merely going to ask for your friendship in return, to learn more about your family over a shared meal, perhaps, nothing more.”
Her tone softened. “I should very much like to befriend you, sir.”
He made his way to the portal. “Enough said, ’tis best now that you eat, regain your strength. I’ll send Molly up with a tray of food.”
“I thank you most kindly, sir,” she said, sending him a warm smile.
He closed the cabin door behind him, leaving the Indian princess lying in his bed to collect her thoughts. Or was it he who needed to gather his? For some reason the lass’s smile totally disarmed him.
He combed his fingers through his hair. All his life he steeled himself against womanly wiles, the curse he suffered a constant reminder to keep buried all such desire. Normally, ’twas not an issue, thoughts of the sadness he’d bring upon a mate was enough to keep intimate notions at bay. But when Raven gazed upon him with her sapphire eyes, an unexpected wash of pleasure coursed through his entire being. The jolt of gratification so pure, so strong, it gave him a genuine thrill and almost knocked him to his knees.
He knew, after he found Molly and ordered Raven a tray of food, ’twould be necessary to seek out a private place; someplace quiet, where he could just sit and think.
Chapter Four
For three days, Raven recuperated in Braiton's bed. Her dreams took her back to her village, sitting around the fire pit and listening to her father’s stories. If there was one thing the Apache people liked to do the most, it was telling fables and tales, many having a moral to live by.
After her fever broke there was no need for the Lord of Limerick to keep constant vigil beside her bed. The cot he slept upon was moved to the good doctor’s cabin, the two men sharing diminutive quarters to give her privacy.
She was now back in the room she shared with Molly and working in the galley.
“You’re indeed foolish, lass,” Molly chided as she prepared a lunch tray. “I hear Lord Shannon offered for you to ride the rest o’ the voyage as his guest, yet you’ve chosen to work up a sweat down here with me.”
She kept at her task, chopping potatoes for the dinner stew. “It would have been terribly inconsiderate of me, Molly, to continue sleeping in the man’s cabin throughout the entire voyage, leaving him and Terrance cramped for room.”
“Obviously it mattered not to him, or he wouldn’t have offered,” Molly retorted.
“And did anyone care to ask Terrance’s opinion on the matter?” she countered.
“He would have agreed.”
“Speaking of agreements…ours was I work for my passage. I will stand by my word.” She dropped the vegetable pieces into a large pot filled with water. “I am learning quickly no one gives something away without wanting something in return.”
Molly responded somewhat annoyed. “As I hear it, all m’lordship wanted was your friendship.”
She brought the pot to the stove and set it to boiling. “And do you truly believe it is all he would take?”
“Aye, lass, I do.” Molly came to stand beside her, folding her chubby arms across an ample bosom. “Lord Shannon is a man who also stands by his word and says what he means. If he asked for your friendship, then ’tis all he’d be takin’.”
She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “And why would he want my friendship?”
Molly sighed. “Perhaps he believed you held somethin’ new for him to hear, would make him laugh a wee bit, or be a listenin’ ear yourself.”
“Does he not have Terrance to talk to?”
Molly reached out and pushed a tendril of hair from Raven’s forehead. “Now why would he be wantin’ to gaze upon Terry’s face when he could be lookin’ at this one?”
An unwelcome blush crept to her cheeks, and she busied herself by stirring the potatoes with a wooden spoon.
“Besides,” Molly concluded, “we’re all busy doin’ our jobs, lass. M’lordship doesn’t pay us to sit around and chat. Who would be runnin’ things for him if we did?”
Raven grabbed an onion from a bowl and began to slice it.
Molly stood beside her. “He gets lonely on these voyages.”
The onion’s fragrance made Raven's eyes water. She dabbed each one with the end of her apron. “I am sure, the handsome man that he is, many women want his attention. When he arrives home he will be lonely no longer.” For a reason she could not explain, the thought of the young lord having anything to do with another woman bothered her.
Molly shook her head, wiping her own eyes with her sleeve. “You’re wrong, lass. He has no one.”
She gat
hered the sliced onions into her hands. “Now, how would you know, Molly?”
“Me sister, Anna O’Leary works at Shannonbrook. She’s been tendin’ the place since Lord Shannon was a wee lad. Her husband, Patrick, drives the lord’s carriage, and he can attest to the fact he visits no women, nor do they call on him.”
Again, she could not understand why Molly’s words brought her a sense of relief. What was it to her whether Lord Shannon entertained other women or not? “He is just good at keeping his business a secret.”
Molly came to her employer’s defense. “Nay, lass, ’tisn’t the case at all. M’lord is a gentleman in the true sense o’ the word.”
She shrugged and dropped the onions into the boiling pot before she covered it. “If he is or if he is not, it has nothing to do with me. The deal was I work for my passage, and it is what I intend to do.”
“Fine, if that’s the way ’tis to be.” Molly made her way over to the tray she prepared for Lord Shannon and handed it to her. “Here you go, me stubborn lass, take him his lunch tray.”
Molly calling her stubborn annoyed her. A deal was a deal, and she was keeping her end of it. She needed nothing from the Lord of Limerick but a way to get to England. She took a deep breath to compose herself, then knocked on the portal with one hand, while balancing the tray with the other.
“Aye, enter,” his deep voice called from within the cabin.
She opened the door, raising her eyes to spot his whereabouts. He sat working at a large desk, his head bent in concentration over a pile of papers.
“Just lay the tray on the table in the corner,” he instructed without looking up.
She made her way to a table at the far end of the cabin and set the tray down, then turned to face him. “Is there anything more I can do for you, sir?”
One Perfect Flower Page 5