“Aye, a son named Michael. Father Michael Darby he’s called now.” She smiled with pride. “He leads a congregation in Dublin.”
“And what about your husband?” she probed.
Molly’s eyes softened. “Ah, me sweet lovin’ Chauncey went home to be with the Lord about five years passed now.”
“I am so sorry, Molly.”
“Ah, me, too, lass. They’ll be no other like him, that’s for sure.” She smiled. “He was the captain of Braiton’s father’s ship, and me, his first mate. Together we sailed to many lands for Lord Broderick, and we saw some beautiful sunsets.” She giggled. “I think Michael learned to take his first step aboard a ship out to sea before he did on dry land.”
“Is that why you continue to come on Lord Shannon’s voyages?”
“Aye, I love the mist, the smell of salt in the air.” She gazed down at the toiletries she’d set out. “’Tis enough about me now, m’lady or else your breakfast will grow cold. And since you barely touched your dinner last night, you should be quite hungry.”
Strange enough, she had no appetite.
“Come, lass,” Molly coaxed, pulling down the quilt.
She stood as Molly soaked a cloth in the water and lathered it with scented soap.
“Off with those bedclothes, now, so that I can wash you,” Molly said over her shoulder.
Her eyes widened. “Wash me?”
Molly squeezed the wash cloth over the basin. “Aye, m’lady.”
She wrapped her arms about herself. “I do not need you to wash me.”
“Ah, ’tis a modest one you are, but ’tis customary for a woman with a title, such as yourself now, to have a personal attendant.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Let me guess, Lord Shannon has instructed you to assist me.”
Molly’s plump cheeks rounded with her broad smile. “Aye, ’tis the way o’ it. And so here I be, at your service.”
She frowned. “You have too many other things to do on this ship than to add bathing me to the list, especially when I am perfectly able to do it myself.”
Molly arched a brow. “And then am I to catch the devil from me employer when I relay to him I’ve left you to your own devices?”
It was certain she did not want Molly to get in trouble because of her. She pulled the nightshirt over her head, her face scalding with humiliation, and covered her breasts with her hands.
“’Tis nothing to be shy about, lass. We’ve all got the same parts, you know. Yours are just a wee bit newer than me own.”
Raven giggled at Molly’s assessment and turned around so Molly could rub the warm, wet cloth down her back. The gentle strokes relaxed her shoulders and spine. She moaned with pleasure as the stiffness seemed to wipe away.
“See,” Molly beamed. “’Tis not so bad.”
“Do you wash Lord Shannon’s back, too, Molly?”
Molly giggled like an embarrassed school girl. “Mercy, nay child, Lord Shannon’s attendant is Brian O’Malley.”
She raised her arms so Molly could wash under them, ticklish and flinching with each stroke. “I have not met Brian.”
“Brian doesn’t travel with m’lordship on voyages. The poor man turns greener than a shamrock just lookin’ at a ship. When Lord Shannon is aboard he tends himself.” Molly dried Raven’s back and thighs with gentle pats. “You will meet Brian when we get home. He’s got a heart o’ gold, he does, and goes out o’ his way for m’lord at every turn.”
“Home,” she repeated. Her home was a tiny wickiup by a river. “It is not my home.”
“’Twill be, m’lady.” Molly turned her around and gave an encouraging smile. “Shannonbrook is in bad need of a woman’s touch, hasn’t had one since Lord Shannon’s mother, Lady Maureen. May she rest in peace.”
“He has named the ship after her, then?”
“Aye, he loved his mother very much, still mourns her death.” Molly slipped a chemise over her head. “Perhaps you will bring him happiness.”
She smoothed the undergarment down her hips. “Lord Shannon married me to save me from the Sea Patrol and for no other reason.”
“I don’t believe it has to stay that way, m’lady,” Molly reflected as she helped her on with the dress.
“I do.”
“We never know what lies ahead of us, m’lady.” Molly motioned for her to sit in a nearby chair. “Now, let me have a go at that hair.”
She allowed Molly to braid her long tresses, pondering the elder woman’s words. The only thing lying ahead for me is to be with my family, people who love me and are not ashamed of me.
Molly stood back to admire her work. “Ah, a beauty you are at that, m’lady.” She handed Raven the stockings and shoes. “Be quick now, child. Your food grows cold.”
She slipped on the sheer leg wear and laced up the ties of each shoe.
Molly opened the portal and summoned her through. “I ask nothin’ more o’ you then to let each day take its course.” She smiled. “And can’t the two of you have fun in the mean time?”
She shrugged. “I suppose it would not hurt.”
Molly’s smile broadened. “Nay, m’lady, ’twouldn’t hurt at all.”
****
Terrance Murphy’s cabin was not luxurious or as spacious as Braiton’s, but what it lacked in lavishness, it made up for in comfort. A warm feeling filled Raven as she entered the cozy quarters, as well as the aroma of bacon, boiled eggs, and toast with marmalade. A table spread with fine china displayed the delicious fare, along with a steaming pot of tea.
Braiton, in his emerald green, high-necked sweater, looked dashing. His eyes twinkled with tiny gold flecks as he bowed from the waist. “Good morn to you, my lady,” he said, pulling out a chair for her, and then taking a seat opposite.
She smiled and reached for the pot of tea. “Would you like me to pour you a cup?”
He inclined his head in agreement and pierced a piece of bacon with a fork. “I trust you slept well?”
“No, I did not.”
He set his fork down beside his plate, giving her his full attention. “What disturbed you, lass?”
“I was very rude to you last night, and I suppose it was my actions keeping me awake.” That and the realization you are completely ashamed of me. “You have been very kind to me,” she added, wetting her dry lips, “and I had no right to accuse you of any wrong motives. I hope you can forgive me.”
Braiton’s eyes softened and searched her face. “There is nothing to forgive, my lady.”
The slow way he explored her features made her heart pound. She cast a glance down to the empty plate set before her. “I do not know how I can repay you for all you have done for me.”
He spoke in a half-whisper. “I know of one way.”
She raised her eyes to meet his.
He chuckled. “You needn’t fear, ’tis nothing compromising. As I said before, this marriage can only be one of convenience.”
She listened to the terms of the agreement he proposed between them. To appear happily wed when others were around, for a year’s time, so as not to jeopardize either of their reputations. He would take care of her needs and while she was in Limerick, she would want for nothing. With the marriage never consummated, an annulment would be easily granted, she would be given a handsome stipend upon departure for her time, and then both of them could go their separate ways.
His terms filled her with humiliation, crushing her confidence, and she blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. I will be given a handsome stipend upon my departure to cover my time. Services provided like a business deal. And that is all I am to you…all I will ever be. You pity my plight, but could never see me as someone you could love. She wanted nothing more than to be reunited with her siblings, but for some unexplained reason she was saddened by his feelings toward her and the idea she would never see him again.
Braiton broke through her thoughts. “Do you accept these terms, Raven?”
If agent Hall had not taken my virtue, would
you see me in a different way? “Yes, I accept and will be glad to do whatever you ask.”
He smiled. “Then what we need to do now, lass, is get to know each other better, so we will appear convincing.”
She spread marmalade on a piece of toast and took a bite, not really tasting it. “I suppose you are right, my shikaa.”
He sunk his teeth into his own toast, a small bit of bread clinging to his mustache.
Without thinking twice, she picked up the cloth napkin beside her plate and wiped his face.
He blinked, astonished.
The blush heated her cheeks. “You had a piece of bread trapped in the hairs of your nneezi,” she explained.
“Nneezi,” he repeated. “Is that how you say mustache in Apache?”
She nodded, soaking the egg in the plate with the rest of her toast.
“Teach me more of your language, Raven.”
“What would you like to know?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small purse. Opening it he held up a small, round piece of currency. “How do you say coin?”
“Beso,” she answered.
He repeated the word.
“Nzhoo, very good,” she praised.
His eyes twinkled. “How do you say water, salt, medicine,” he questioned rapidly.
“Guesa means water, inchi means salt, and we say izee for medicine,” she tutored.
Once again he repeated each word the way she pronounced it.
“You catch on fast, my shikaa,” she admitted.
“And how do you say, my wife?”
“Shi’aad,” she translated.
His hearty laugh was cut short by a knock at the door.
Braiton stood. “We will continue this lesson when I return.”
She smiled at his exuberance. “I will be waiting.”
When the portal was opened, Riley entered. He bowed toward her and lowered his voice when he spoke to Braiton. She strained her ears to hear his words, but Riley’s thick Irish brogue made it hard for her to understand, especially at such a low volume.
When her husband returned to the table his brows were creased with a worried frown. “Some trouble brews, lass.” He grabbed his jacket draped over the back of his chair. “We’re sailing into a storm.” He took her by the arm and escorted her to the door. “Get yourself to my cabin, ’tis much safer there.”
She looked up into his eyes, now clouded with concern. “Please, be careful.”
His gaze went to her lips. “How do you say all right in your tongue?”
“Haua,” she replied, his gaze sending ripples of excitement down her spine.
He flashed a lopsided grin. “I will be haua, my lady. Now, go. Take shelter in my cabin.”
On her way to Braiton’s cabin she glanced up at the gray sky. The darkness seemed to envelope The Sweet Maureen, as the vessel sailed through the choppy waters and into the eye of the storm. Rain pelted down upon her head, and she ran for shelter. Terrified, she took refuge on the large bunk. The ship pitched from side to side, groaning and creaking as it rocked, and her stomach churned. Swallowing hard the nausea rising to choke her, she curled herself into a ball, covered herself with the quilt and held onto the bed’s post.
The large desk and table were bolted down, but the chairs slid from one end of the cabin to the other. Each time an item from Braiton’s desk smashed to the floor, she winced. Fearing the ship would flip onto its side and sink to the bottom of the sea, she prayed the good Lord would pardon her sins. Then she prayed for Braiton and his men. How were they coping on deck? In her mind’s eye, she pictured them all plunging to their deaths, swept overboard into the vast, dark waters.
“Spare us, Jesus,” she whispered, pulling the quilt over her head.
****
The angry waves splashed over the rail, swallowing the bow. Braiton stood with legs apart and feet braced, struggling to keep balanced, straining to hear Kirby’s words.
“’Twould be best, m’lord, if the ship were taken off course, pulled away from the storm.”
“I’d rather muster through, Captain. I can’t take the chance this storm will rage for days.” He wiped aside the wet strands of hair that clung to his face. “I’ve got a deadline to meet with this cargo.” He looked around at the others on deck, working hard at baling water. “We’ll take her through,” he decided. “She’ll hold; she’s a strong ship. And I’d like to get through the worst of it while we still have daylight.”
“Aye, aye, sir; as you say,” Kirby agreed, leaving Braiton to man the helm while he bellowed a few commands to the other mates.
Fighting to keep his footing on the wet, slippery deck, he ventured the ship ahead.
“Everythin’ has been secured, sir,” Kirby announced upon his return. “She’s a bad one, m’lord.” He helped Braiton hold the tiller to the starboard side. “We’ve got a good hour o’ this before we’re through.”
“She’ll hold, Captain,” he said again, confident The Sweet Maureen would get them through and set his focus on the angry waters at the forefront.
Chapter Seven
She watched the water seep through the cracks around the portholes each time waves crashed against the outer walls of the ship. Her hands, stiff from clutching the bunk’s post, ached.
Is this how it will end for me, my lifeless body floating in the cabin of this ship at the bottom of the cold, black sea? Her thoughts were broken by men’s voices and heavy footsteps in the passageway. The loud banging on the portal made her jump out of her skin.
“M’lady,” Terrance called. “Please, open the portal.”
The urgency in his voice made her scurry off the bed. “I am coming, Terrance,” she called back.
The ship pitched beneath her feet, and she fell to her knees in the disarray. Creeping to the portal, she reached up and slid the bolt free, then stood braced against the wall to pull it open. The thick oak door flew out of her hand, wind and rain gushing in her face. Thrown off her feet, she landed hard on her backside. Stunned momentarily, she stayed on the floor, watching Terrance and Riley carry Braiton’s limp body to the bunk. She crawled to the bed, pulling herself to her feet using the same post she held onto for hours, and looked down upon Braiton’s form. A large gash burned across one side of his forehead, the blood streaking down his face and soaking the collar of his sweater.
“What happened?” she gasped, stumbling to the side of the bed.
“A beam broke and caught him in the head,” Terrance explained, while his quick, experienced hands administered to Braiton’s wound.
The strange surge of concern and affection she felt for Braiton frightened her. “Will he be all right?”
Terrance’s low and unruffled tone helped to compose her emotions. “Aye, m’lady, the wound’s not as deep as it appears. It looks as though the beam grazed him, but he’ll be out for a wee bit.”
“If you’ll not be needin’ me further, Doc, I’ll be takin’ meself back to the cap’n,” Riley said, pushing aside with his foot the debris littering the floor beside the bed.
“Lady Shannon can help me now, lad,” Terrance assured Riley. “Go where you’re needed more.”
Riley nodded and made his way to the portal, struggling against the wind and rain to close the door behind him.
She moved closer. “Tell me what to do, Terrance.”
Terrance began to remove Braiton’s boots. “We’ve got to get rid o’ these wet clothes, lass. He’s soaked to the bone and will catch his death.” He moved to unfasten the trousers. “I’ll hold up his bottom while you slide down the breeches,” he instructed.
It is not right for me to be here, see him undressed. Stepping back, she tightened her hold on the bed’s post. “Terrance, I-I cannot…” she stammered.
“Hurry, lass,” he snapped, ignoring her protest.
She braced a knee against the bunk’s frame, and then placed the other knee on the bed. Gripping the waistband of Braiton’s pants, she managed to pull them down to his ankles.
Terrance lifted each of Braiton’s legs, while she tugged the saturated garment off his feet. The breeches came free, and she lost her balance, falling backward and hitting the floor with a loud thump.
“Saints preserve us, are you all right, my lady,” Terrance inquired concerned.
She gathered up her skirt and rolled onto her knees, her behind throbbing from the impact. “I am fine,” she lied, again using the bed post to stand.
Terrance removed Braiton’s jacket and sweater. She was caught off guard seeing him naked. Helpless to halt the heat rising to her cheeks, she glanced away, but curiosity had her at a disadvantage. This time she surveyed him fully, her slow gaze easing from his muscular arms and chest to a taut belly. Her eyes swept over his hips and to the patch of dark hair at the juncture of his thighs. On further assessment she took in the strapping long legs that allowed him to tower over her.
Terrance’s voice snapped her thoughts back to the task at hand. “Can you manage to get to the wardrobe, lass, to fetch dry towels?”
She pulled her gaze free from Braiton and looked over at Terrance. He kept a close eye on her, a small smile curving one side of his mouth. “I hope your wifely admiration for your husband never leaves you, m’lady, but if you don’t fetch the dry towels, you might find yourself a widow.”
She blinked, embarrassment turning to annoyance, and glanced away. She pushed aside the chairs and other wreckage littering the cabin, making her way to the wardrobe and back.
When she handed the towels to Terrance, he stepped out-of-the-way. “I’ll leave the rest to you, m’lady.” Another slow grin spread across his face. “Dry him well and keep him warm.” A mischievous twinkle danced in his pale blue eyes. “Body heat is much better than a quilt.”
And with that he was gone, leaving her standing by the bed with the towels in her hands.
I guess I have no choice in the matter. She knelt beside the bunk and with a shaky hand dried his powerful set of shoulders. Unexplained warmth flooded her body when she moved to dry his chest. The desire to run her fingers over his flesh overwhelmed her. Placing the towel aside, she caressed an arm with timid strokes, admiring its magnificent hardness, awed by the strength coiled within. The thought of being engulfed by his embrace made her tremble with excitement. She knew, in spite of his strength, he would be gentle—tender and considerate.
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