At the sound of her voice, he met her gaze. The slow smile that curved his lips deepened the cleft in his chin. Rising from his chair, he moved to stand beside her.
He was a tall man, and she had to crane her neck in order to meet his eyes. She licked her dry lips and forced a smile in return. “Would you like for me to pour you a cup of tea?”
He pulled a chair from the table and sat down. “Aye, thank you, lass.”
The scent of his cologne filled her senses, his very presence unnerving. With trembling hands, she picked up the pot and poured the tea, then handed him the cup.
Lightly his fingers brushed hers as he accepted the hot brew. The mere touch of their flesh connecting made her insides quake.
His eyes engulfed her with concern. “I hope you aren’t doing too much too soon, lass.”
She pulled her hand away, folding them behind her back. “I am fine, sir. Thank you for asking.”
He sat back in his chair and searched her face. “Do I frighten you, Raven?”
It was the first time she had heard him say her first name. The way the R sounded rolling off his tongue thrilled her. “I do not frighten easily, sir.”
A mischievous twinkle gleamed in his eyes. “That’s good to know.”
Her voice was shakier than she liked. “Will that be all then?”
“Aye, thank you.”
She could feel his eyes watching her leave. Her steps were awkward as she walked to the door. Once the portal closed behind her, she leaned against it and let out the breath she had been holding.
What in heaven’s name has come over me?
The pounding of her heart could wake the dead, and the palms of her hands were soaked with sweat. She wiped them on the apron, whispering to herself. “Get a grip less you appear the fool.” She looked around, in the hopes no one heard her talking to herself, before she made her way down the causeway to the galley—feeling confused and elated all at once.
****
Braiton trusted Captain Rourke Kirby, a skilled sailor in his day who weathered many storms. His hair and beard were white with age, but his mind was as clear as a crystal goblet. He was sharp at a game of cards, quick with a snappy remark, and more than capable at the helm of The Sweet Maureen.
Standing before him now, Kirby’s hazel green eyes shone with concern from beneath bushy brows. “I’ve spotted the buggers a few miles behind us, m’lord.”
Braiton poured them each a whiskey and handed a glass to Kirby. “And you’re sure they’re Sea Patrol?”
“Aye, m’lord.” Kirby took the whiskey and threw the honey colored liquid down his throat. His ruddy cheeks, permanently chapped by the wind, swished, and he savored the taste of the expensive liquor before swallowing it. “Most likely they want to check the cargo against receipts.”
Braiton twirled the amber drink around in the glass before downing it as fast as Kirby. “All is in order. I have nothing to fear from these men.”
Kirby’s heavy white brows knit together. “There’s a problem other than the cargo, m’lord.”
He sat back in his seat, laying his glass aside and reached for his clay pipe. “What might that be, Captain?”
“The young American lass, m’lord. She doesn’t have the proper passage to show she legally belongs aboard.” Kirby removed his cap and combed his fingers through his unruly hair. “The authorities could conclude she’s bein’ smuggled for the sellin’ o’ carnal pleasures. Many ships have hustled women aboard for such purposes.”
He lit the pipe, taking a few quick puffs. “And what happens to the women?”
Kirby replaced his cap upon his head and folded his large hands in front of him. “They’re removed and taken off to prison, m’lord.”
It disturbed him to think of Raven in one of those lock downs. His stomach churned, and he rose from his seat, coming around to lean a hip against the desk. “Perhaps if I explained the situation, offered them a few coins, they might overlook her.”
“Save your breath to cool your porridge, m’lord. These knaves are a crafty lot.” Kirby chuckled sardonically. “One look at the lass, and they’ll not only be takin’ her, but havin’ their fill with her as well.”
Inwardly he recoiled. Raven at the mercy of these men…of any man. With jaws clenched he paced the cabin floor. “Then what can be done to save her from these scoundrels?”
“If the lass were your wife, m’lord, the Sea Patrol would have no right to do a thing.”
Kirby’s words slammed him in the gut, stopped him in his tracks. “I have vowed never to marry, Captain. Surely there has to be another way?”
Kirby’s brows furrowed. “Sorry to say, m’lord, I cannot think of another as bindin’. As ’tis, I’ll have to date the marriage papers to when we first left America.”
He ran a hand through his hair, blood pulsed in his head, and resumed pacing. “If that be the only way, then make the arrangements.”
Kirby gave a taut nod and walked to the portal, stopping short before opening it. He turned to face Braiton. “What if the lass refuses?”
“Explain to her the consequences she’ll face if she doesn’t go along with the plan.”
Kirby shook his head. “The lesser of two evils.”
“Aye, something like that, Captain.”
****
At first Raven was too startled to object, but as Molly braided her hair, she continued to ponder the situation. The whole idea became absurd.
“Aco’tndn’nil’gon’ye…what is the trouble? Why can he not just hide me?”
“The trouble is if the authorities found you, lass, we’d all be in a fix.” Molly reached for the yellow ribbon on the table and entwined it within the braid. “You should be feelin’ grateful m’lord decided to marry you instead o’ handin’ you over to those men.”
She could barely swallow the lump growing in her throat. “I always hoped when the time came for me to marry, it would be for love.”
“We never know what’s ahead o’ us in this life, lass. Could be in time the two of you—”
Annoyed, Raven interjected, “We are scarcely friends, so scarce he could not even come to tell me all this himself.” She turned around to look Molly in the eyes. “He sent the captain to demand…not ask…I wed him.”
Molly smiled. “I’m sure ’tis because he’s so much on his mind, he must be ready for these men.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think every girl who’s had a marriage arranged hasn’t gone through the same…felt the way you do?”
“I do not care about other girls,” she protested.
“Hush, now child, and let me finish here,” Molly said, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her back around. “There is no other choice before you, and the Sea Patrol is on our tail. There must be enough time for the ink to dry on the weddin’ papers so that everythin’ appears in order, or else we’ll all be seein’ the inside walls of a prison.”
“None of this is happening the way it should be, Molly. I am supposed to be sent to England, to be with my family, after we land in Ireland. How can that happen if I am Lord Shannon’s wife?”
Molly pinned the braid atop Raven’s head. “Now, don’t you go worrin’ so, lass. M’lordship ’tisn’t daft, and I assure you he hasn’t forgotten his duty to you. But first and foremost he knows these men must leave our ship and be on their merry way.” She gave her an affectionate pat on the arm. “’Twill all turn out for the best, you’ll see, and what a vision you’ll be when I’m through here.” She giggled. “’Tis all so romantic.”
Becoming the wife of a man she hardly knew was anything but romantic. She always thought when it was her time to wed she would wear the dress her grandmother and mother wore to take their own vows. Tears welled in her eyes. Her sister, Sunny, would wear the traditional gown now. Hopefully, it will be under better circumstances.
Molly reached for the dress she’d cut down to fit Raven and draped it over her shoulder. “Look how the yellow brings out the rich darkness o’ your hair.�
��
She gave a taut nod. “You have done a fine job, Molly.”
Molly smiled, eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “Now stand and let me help you on with it, lass.”
She obeyed, allowing Molly to fasten a row of tiny pearl buttons up the back.
When finished, Molly stood back to admire her work. “You’re a vision, lass.” Molly brushed a tear from her own eye. “If only me sister, Anna, could be here.” She took her by the hand and led her to the stairs. “The next time I set me eyes on you, you’ll be the Lady of Limerick.”
She clutched Molly’s hand. “Oh Molly, I am so scared. This is not the way it should be.” Tears burned the back of her throat. “I do not want to be the Lady of Limerick. All I want is to be Raven Eagle and join my family in England.”
Molly’s tone sharpened. “For now ’tis how it must be, lass. We’re not all given what we want, and so we must make the best o’ what we have.” Then she gave her an encouraging smile. “You must trust m’lordship. He is a good and honorable man. He’ll make everythin’ right in the end, you’ll see.” She softened her tone. “Now go, lass. Lord Shannon awaits you.”
She made her way up the stairs, careful to hold her full skirt above her ankles to keep from tripping. By the time she reached Lord Shannon’s cabin she was numb with fear and uncertainty. How could this be happening to me?
“Trust him,” Molly had said.
She hesitated before knocking on the portal and calmed herself by taking a few deep breaths. What choice do I have?
It was Captain Kirby who opened the door, bowing as she entered.
She managed a polite smile in return and looked over at her husband-to-be. An expression the mixture of admiration and awe crossed his face, and it set her already weak knees to knocking.
Making his way to her, his emerald eyes took in the entire length of her with a long, slow sweep. Then they rested ever so slightly on the scooped décolletage of her gown.
Her face grew hot beneath his scrutiny. Molly had made the neckline way too low. With trembling fingers she adjusted the lace collar.
Lord Shannon commented with quiet emphasis. “I’d say you’re like a rare gem, lass. When polished, you shine magnificently.”
She inclined her head in a small gesture of appreciation. “Ashoge, thank you. I am most grateful to you for what you are doing.”
He took her hand, closing his fingers over hers. “Shall we begin, then?”
She nodded in agreement, a warm glow flowing through her with his touch.
He led her to stand in front of the large desk and gave a quick nod to Captain Kirby. “We’re ready.”
No drums beat, no women danced, her parents were not smiling as she spoke the vows. The whole ceremony—a few words read from a book held by Captain Kirby—was over in a matter of minutes. Her voice shook repeating her part, the promise to honor and obey till death do them part was a lie and sounded hollow to her ears.
When he finished agreeing to his part, he placed upon her finger a gold band. In the center of the ring sat a large blue stone, flanked on each side by diamonds. The brilliance almost blinded her.
“I cannot accept this ring, sir.”
“You not only can, my lady, but you must. ’Twas my mother’s wedding ring and ’tis tradition it be my wife’s.” The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. “The sapphire is the same blue of your eyes.”
“But under the circumstances I understand if –”
“’Tis yours now, Raven,” he interrupted softly.
She wiggled her finger, admiring each gem. “I will guard it with my life, sir.”
He poured red wine into three glasses, handing one to her and the second to Kirby. “Here’s to my wife, Lady Raven Shannon,” he toasted, raising the third glass high.
“Here, here,” Kirby chimed in.
She smiled and raised her own glass. “And to you as well, Lord Shannon.”
“You need not be so formal, Raven. ’Twould please me to hear you call me Braiton.”
Though she felt anything but comfortable being so familiar, she nodded in agreement. He was now her shikaa, husband. How would it sound to others, especially the Sea Patrol, if she stood on formality?
After the marriage certificate was signed, a heavy knock sounded at the door. Braiton blew on the papers to dry the ink while Captain Kirby answered the call.
A slim built man with beady eyes stood in the doorway. “Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, the Sea Patrol approaches.”
Kirby nodded. “Thank you, Riley.” He faced Braiton. “Are you ready, m’lord?”
Braiton’s jaw thrust forward. “Aye, Captain.”
Her husband studied her. The same air of authority that stopped Baxter’s torments upon her in Silver City was present again. There was an inherent strength in his face, an appearance of one who demanded respect and instant obedience. With him by her side, she knew there was little to fear.
He extended an elbow to her. “Are you ready to greet our guests, my lady?”
She squared her shoulders and looped her arm through his. “I am now, sir”—she hesitated and then added—“I mean, my shikaa.”
He arched a brow. “And what is it now you’ve just called me?”
“Husband, shikaa means husband in Apache.”
They shared a smile and together walked out on the open deck.
Chapter Five
In silence, hoping only she could hear the rapid beating of her heart, Raven watched the three men come aboard. They were dressed in double breasted jackets of red wool and black breeches. The heels of their shiny black boots clicked on the wooden deck floor with their quick steps, their eyes cold and faces stern.
Secretly thanking Braiton for rescuing her, she shuddered at the fate she could have endured at the hands of these heartless looking men. The Sea Patrol reminded her of the white agents who infiltrated her village, ready to take what was not theirs. The comparison was accurate. Netdahe, death to all intruders.
Braiton lowered his head to hers and whispered in her ear. “Are you all right, Raven.”
“They make my blood grow cold,” she whispered in return.
“Aye, they are a pirate looking bunch at that, but you have nothing to fear from them now. You’re Lady Shannon; no one would dare to harm you. Besides,” he added in a tone ringing with command, “they’d have to get through me first.”
Startled by his response, she glanced up. “You would protect me with force?”
Braiton’s large green eyes caught and held hers. “Aye, I would…to the death.”
The last thing she wanted was for him to fight on her behalf or to die in the process. The chance of him being injured, or worse, paralyzed her with even a greater fear then the Sea Patrol posed. Now she sympathized with her mother…why she kept silent…never telling her father about the white agents’ crude remarks and lecherous stares.
“No, my shikaa. Never should you fight for me.”
His answer carried a unique force. “’Tis not for you to say, Raven.”
She knew there would be no use to try and persuade him differently, even if there were time …which there wasn’t because the tallest man of the three coming aboard now stood before them, introducing himself and the others.
He bowed to her and nodded to Braiton. “I am Captain Marshall Langley.” He gestured to the thin man standing to his left. “This is Lieutenant Addison Gray.” Then he indicated the stockier-built man to his right. “And this is Lieutenant Martin Breck.”
Braiton acknowledged each man with a taut nod. “’Tis my pleasure, gentlemen. Welcome to The Sweet Maureen. I am Braiton Shannon, Lord of Limerick.” He gestured to her. “And this is my wife, Raven.”
Captain Langley cocked his blond head to one side. His large gray-blue eyes sharp and accessing, swept the length of her. “Raven, is it?” His mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. “That’s a most unusual name.”
Braiton kept his features composed, the tiny muscle at his jaw throbbing. �
��My wife is part, Apache, Captain.”
Langley’s eyes darkened. “Have you two been married long, my lord?”
She stiffened.
Braiton moved closer, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. “Fact of the matter, Captain, I met my wife on this last voyage to America in Silver City. We were married aboard ship. My captain, Rourke Kirby, presided over the ceremony.”
She found it impossible to steady her erratic pulse, though everything Braiton said was the truth, even if the events did not happen quite as he led Captain Langley to believe.
Langley’s continued leer reminded her more and more of the white agents or that of an animal ready to attack its prey. He turned his cold gaze on Braiton. “I trust you have the necessary documents to prove what you say is true, my lord?”
Braiton returned Langley’s look with a sharp one of his own. “Aye, Captain, I do.” He removed his arm from around her waist and extended an elbow to her. “If you’ll follow us to my cabin, I’ll be glad to show you the marriage certificate, cargo receipts, and anything else you wish to examine.”
She had to force her legs to move, her steps rigid walking beside her new husband to the cabin, the men’s boot heels clicked with authority behind her.
Braiton opened the portal and motioned the men to precede him. “Everything you seek is laid out upon my desk.” He escorted her to a chair before shutting the door. “I’m sure you’ll find it all in order.”
Again, Langley’s eyes brushed over her, his words loaded with ridicule. “You must miss your family, my lady, or are you a poor orphan, hoping to better your station?”
This yudastcin, bastard, is making me out to look like a bija’n’ata, whore. Anger singed the corners of her control, rippling along her spine. “I have left many loved ones in America, sir.”
Braiton’s tone, though quiet, had an ominous quality. “My wife is an Indian princess, Captain Langley. And her mother comes from a prominent English family.”
Langley was courteous, but patronizing. “I know many prominent families in England, which might yours be, my lady?” he challenged.
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