The Wayward One (The De Montforte Brothers Book 5)

by Danelle Harmon

  A bright burst of her laughter and no, he didn’t want to see it but he did—the light, evocative touch of her fingers against Josiah’s wrist, the playful toss of her head, the flirtatious giggle.

  And Josiah’s slow, lopsided smile.

  Best to get them away from each other, he thought with bitter savagery. Best to do it now.

  He took her arm and began to lead her away and as he did, he glanced down at her and saw that she was looking back over her shoulder, coyly batting her lashes at the man Ruaidri considered to be his best and most loyal friend.

  Chapter 11

  Somewhere beyond the wooden door that separated the quiet, private world of Tigershark’s cabin from the busy deck outside, Nerissa, still on the window seat, heard the chime of a bell signifying the end of a watch. Moments later a knock came on that same door, and it opened almost immediately.

  She was glad she had retreated to her spot on the window seat because Captain O’ Devir, surely anticipating the wake-up call in his sleep or so accustomed to four-hour snatches of rest that he would have opened his unfairly gorgeous eyes even without the knock on the door, immediately sat up, rubbing his forehead as Midshipman Cranton walked in.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “The weather, Mr. Cranton?”

  “Sunny skies. Some clouds off to the west, could be a storm in the offing, but still well enough away, I expect.”

  “Our course?”

  “Southwest on the starboard tack, the French coast visible in the distance with the glass.”

  Captain O’ Devir, looking tired and anything but refreshed, swung his feet out of the bed and padded across the cabin to the table where the old coffee pot stood. Nerissa watched him pick it up, upend it, and swear beneath his breath when only a few cold, very cold, drops tumbled out and into his mug.

  “Where’s that cheeky little wretch who’s supposed to be my cabin steward?”

  “Helping Cook prepare lunch, Captain.”

  “Tell him to get his sorry arse in here now or he’ll be wearin’ the coffee ye’re about to get for me on his damned head.” He handed the pot to Cranton. “Be quick about it. And bring an extra cup for the lady, too.”

  Only then did the young man’s gaze slide to Nerissa. A faint blush spread over his cheeks and she could all but see him checking her over for damage to either her person or her spirit. The fact that she had been in here while the captain had taken his rest was troubling the youth, and why not? He probably thought it scandalously improper. Nerissa’s own face flamed. To address the issue would only make it worse and add to her humiliation. She offered a smile and a helpless shrug of her shoulders; it was all she could do.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Aye, Mr. Cranton. And the quicker you are with that coffee, the better mood I’ll be in when ye see me on deck.”

  The young midshipman wasted no time in retreating and Nerissa, one brow raised, looked at Captain O’ Devir and shook her head.

  “Are you always such an ogre to your crew?”

  “I am always an ogre until I have me first cup of coffee.”

  He stood up, hands in the middle of his lower back, and stretched, first one way, and then the other. He looked delightfully rumpled, sleepy-eyed, and while she might not consider him handsome in the classical sense, he was nevertheless the most virile and devastatingly attractive man Nerissa had ever met.

  He rubbed at his stubbled jaw and slanted her a wicked, teasing look. “Had a dream about you, y’know. Dreamt that ye slid into bed with me and kept me nice and warm. Dreamt of yer lips against—”

  “Captain O’ Devir, I do not care to know the content of your dreams.”

  “Ah, looks like someone else is out of sorts until her mornin’ coffee, eh?”

  “I do not drink coffee.”

  “Well, ye won’t be drinkin’ tea while aboard an American ship, Sunshine, for reasons both practical and political. So if ye want a good hot beverage to perk ye up, ye’ll have to take coffee. Soak some hard tack in it and it makes both more palatable.”

  “I am going to starve to death while I’m here, I just know it.”

  “I’ll catch ye another fish. Can’t have a dead hostage now, can I?”

  “You’ll be dead enough when my brother Lu—”

  He laughed, his eyes sparkling with merriment. “Yes, yes, I know, we’ve already sailed those seas, lass.” He picked up the pitcher, poured some water into a bowl, pushed up his sleeves to expose well-muscled forearms sparsely covered with black hair, and grabbing a square of linen, dipped it in the water and began to wash his face. His shirt was wrinkled beneath the waistcoat, and she wondered if he’d slept in his clothes so as to be in readiness for anything unexpected, or because he was trying to preserve her eyes from the sight of him in undress.

  She had grown up with four brothers; she knew, of course, that the male anatomy was greatly different from her own, knew that beneath the span of cloth that connected Captain O’ Devir’s wide shoulders there would be plenty of hard, defined muscle, just like in his arms; there was no paunch beneath that white waistcoat with its gold buttons, no jowliness to that watchful face with its quickly changing expressions; he would be lean and fit and beneath the skin, his muscles would be hard to the touch, and the minute she had this thought, she was both horrified and furious with herself.

  Why are you thinking of touching him?

  “I’m predictin’ today will be a bit more excitin’ than the last,” he was saying, grabbing a small brush and smearing lather on his cheeks and jaw before picking up a long razor and setting to work before a tiny, cracked mirror. She stared; she had never seen a man shave before and her brothers, she assumed, were always shaved by their valets.

  “What do you mean?”

  His striking violet eyes met hers in the square of glass, breaking her fixation. “Yer brother will have received my ransom note by now and things should start to happen. Knowin’ the Royal Navy as I do, they won’t meet me on my terms but will try and set some of their own. Goin’ to miss me, Sunshine?”

  “No.”

  “Come now, not even a wee bit?”

  “No.”

  “Eh, well. Wish I could say the same, but it’s been rather fun havin’ ye aboard and tryin’ to get under yer skin.”

  “I am glad I was able to provide both entertainment and amusement,” she said dryly.

  “’Twould have been better if ye’d allowed yerself to enjoy that kiss, too.”

  “Do you ever relent?”

  “Never.” His eyes were gleaming above his beard of soapy lather. “And I’ll be kissin’ ye again before I send ye home, I will.”

  She flushed and looked away, suddenly feeling very warm beneath her clothing.

  “Lookin’ forward to goin’ home?” he asked, his voice serious now.

  “With both anticipation and, if I may be honest, dread.”

  She met his eyes in the tiny mirror. His gaze had lost a bit of its merriness and now fixated on hers. “Why’s that?”

  She shrugged. “As long as I’m out here, I can pretend that the whole of London isn’t turned upside down looking for me. I can pretend that my reputation isn’t going to be in ruins, that my name won’t be the highlight of every scandal sheet, every newspaper, to come out of a London press. I can pretend that my brothers and family are going about their business, enjoying their children and not worried sick about me.” She sighed. “Right now, the real world seems very far away.”

  “Aye. The sea, she’ll do that to ye.”

  He was just wiping the remaining bits of lather from his clean-shaven cheeks and jaw when the door opened and a young lad came in. His hair stuck out in every direction, ill-fitting clothes hung from his lanky frame, and a colorful bird with a beak that looked like it could take off her finger in one bite, was watching her balefully from his shoulder.

  Nerissa stared balefully back.

  “Got your lunches, sir,” the boy said. “Cook made fried pork.
Brought you a fresh pot of coffee, too, as well as two cups.” He glanced curiously, unabashedly, at Nerissa. “Begging your pardon, m’lady, but most of what we’ve got aboard is a bit the worse for wear. I found the cup with the fewest amount of chips and cracks in it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and favored him with a smile that soon had him blushing as red as the plumage on the back of the bird’s head. “And what is your parrot’s name?”

  “Take that bird out of here before it sh—” the captain caught himself—“before it makes a mess or says somethin’ it shouldn’t. There’s a lady present, Joey.”

  “Says something it shouldn’t?” Nerissa asked, looking with renewed interest at the boy’s pet. “Can it talk?”

  “Aye, m’lady. Ol’ Scups here has quite the vocabulary. The crew’s been teaching him a new word every week. In fact—”

  The captain took the tray from the boy’s hands, slammed it down on the table, and with a jerk of his chin, indicated the door. “Words that aren’t fit for a lady’s ears.”

  “I have never heard a parrot talk before,” Nerissa said wistfully. “Surely whatever it has to say won’t curl my hair or turn it purple now, will it, Joey?”

  “Well—”

  At that moment, there was a call from the lookout high in the tops. Immediately Captain O’ Devir dropped the facade of gracious host and became the commander of a warship that he actually was, motioning them both for silence as he listened intently.

  The door opened. “Mr. Morgan’s respects, sir, but Wiggins up in the main top just spotted a sail about five miles off to the northeast. Frigate, sir. British colors.”

  Captain O’ Devir was already reaching for his uniform coat. He drained his coffee and grabbed his hat. “Later, Sunshine,” he said, striding for the door. “Don’t wait lunch on me.”

  She watched him go. Joey followed, the parrot still on his skinny shoulder, leaving her alone in the suddenly-quiet cabin with nothing but her thoughts and a tray of untouched food.

  A Royal Navy frigate, flying the Union Jack.

  Help, it seemed, had arrived.

  In her bones, she knew that ship out there was here for her. The English government had wasted no time in setting about getting her back, and she knew her formidable brother had probably pulled every string in his hand of marionettes to bring about her timely rescue. Knowing Lucien, he was probably there aboard the ship and Captain O’ Devir had just seen his last sunrise.

  She got up and went to the windows, feeling a sudden weakness in her knees as she looked out over the sea. What would this day hold? An end to her time as a captive? A peaceful exchange? A terrible sea fight where brave men fought and suffered and God forbid, died?

  No. She did not want to see Ruaidri O’ Devir die.

  He was a rogue and an audacious scoundrel, but she didn’t hate him that much.

  In fact…she didn’t hate him at all.

  She turned and spied the tray that had been left on the table. Resolutely picking it up, she used her elbow to open the cabin door and stepped out into the sunshine.

  The captain had not had his meal. If he was going to die today, the least she could do was ensure he did so on a full belly.

  Chapter 12

  “Can we outrun them, sir?”

  Ruaidri, the heavy telescope braced through the ratlines, was studying the distant frigate. He gauged her speed, noting her sail trim and her course. She was a formidable looking bitch, bristling with guns and manned by the Navy that had stolen him from his homeland, forced him to work its ships, insulted, abused, scarred and shamed him. He felt the old anger rearing up, bile burning in his stomach. He knew the prowess of the British seamen. He knew the strength of their ships, the tenacity of their fighting spirit, and he knew that while his little brig might be well-built and fast, she would be the inferior of a frigate if it came down to a fight.

  “She’s piling on more sail, Captain. I’d say she’s seen us.”

  “Noted, Mr. Morgan.”

  Was it just a random patrol out there, or was this England’s answer to his audacious demands? Either way, he would call the shots, not they. The exchange between Lady Nerissa and the explosive would take place in Saint-Malo as he’d demanded, when he’d demanded, not out here on the open sea where he would be at a disadvantage.

  He shut the glass and handed it to Midshipman Cranton. The French port of Calais—and safety—lay ten miles to the southeast. The wind was out of the west, the frigate, her shape subtly changing as she began to come about, well to the northeast.

  “Get all hands to their stations,” he said. “Decks sanded down, guns loaded up with grape and chain, nets strung and the boats lowered. Clear the ship for action, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Think he’ll attack, sir?”

  “Of course he will. He’s British, isn’t he?”

  The frigate was still changing tack, presenting her broadside as she maneuvered to take full advantage of the wind. She would try to catch them before they could reach the safety of France, he knew. Try to either engage them or cut off their escape route before they could reach a safe port. Ruaidri’s thoughts flashed to Lady Nerissa. Her safety was more important than anything else under his command, with the exception of the mission he’d been sent here to undertake. He would send her deep into the hold, well below the waterline, where the brig’s stout timbers would offer her the most protection. Joey and that damned parrot could accompany her and keep her amused while the rest of them were getting blown to bits.

  Nearby someone cleared his throat, and Ruaidri was roused from his reverie by a presence at his shoulder.

  It was the subject of his thoughts. She had brought the food out, the tray held carefully in her hands to prevent the motion of the ship from spilling anything.

  “What is happening, Captain?”

  “We might see some action in a bit,” he said with deliberate non-concern. He nodded toward the distant ship. “’Twill be a while before they’re in range, maybe another half hour or so. Ye can stay up here for a short time longer, then it’s belowdecks with ye, Sunshine.”

  “Are we in danger?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Will we be?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  She nodded, once, her lovely blue eyes troubled. Her knuckles looked very white as she gripped the tray, steadying herself against the motion of the brig and trying to keep her balance.

  He took pity on her. “Go sit and eat, lass. Might be yer last meal here and it looks a damned sight better than the rest of the shite Cook’s been sendin’ up.”

  She set it down on a nearby deckhouse, steadying it with one hand. Her eyes were wide as she noted the hurried preparations on the part of the seamen, the sense of quiet urgency around them. “I brought it for you.”

  “Well, now, did ye?” He looked at her quizzically. “Why is that?”

  “You didn’t get the chance to eat it earlier.”

  He looked at her, one brow raised, then took the tray from her and escorted her away from listening ears.

  “What’s the real reason?”

  “I noted how quickly you left the cabin. I can see the trepidation in your men’s faces, I know you consider that ship out there to be an enemy. You are either going to be captured or killed, Captain O’ Devir, and if either comes to pass, I’d like you to at least go to prison or your just reward on a full stomach.”

  He laughed and shaking his head, plucked the coffee mug from the tray, lifted it to his lips, and regarded her from over its rim. It was good and hot and black and bitter, just as he liked it. “Are those the only two outcomes you foresee, lass?”

  “What other possible outcomes could there be?”

  “Well, we could emerge victorious, for one.” He took another sip of the coffee. “Or I could elect to run.”

  “You won’t run.”

  “I won’t fight, either, if I don’t absolutely have to. Not with you aboard.”

  “Am I worth that much to you
, Captain?”

  Yes. Yes you are. “Ye’re worth that much to this brother of yours who wants to hang, disembowel, or behead me with a dull knife, which makes ye worth that much to the Royal Navy and England itself.”

  Something in her face fell; what did he want her to say?

  His first lieutenant was hustling past, a hint of ginger in his wake. Ruiadri hailed him. “Mr. Morgan! Brace up that main topsail a wee bit more, see if we can get some more speed out of her. Lively, now.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  He turned back to Nerissa. “Besides, ye’re a lady,” he added, his gaze sliding back to the distant frigate. “I’ve no wish to subject ye to the horrors of men injured, dyin’, pleadin’ for mercy as they’re hacked to pieces in front of ye.”

  “I see.” And then: “Will you be safe, Captain?”

  “No more or less so than anyone else aboard this ship.”

  She nodded, and her eyes darkened with what looked like worry before she looked away.

  “Here now, what’s this?” he said. “Ye’ll not come to any harm. Ye may despise me, Lady Nerissa, but I’d give me life before I let anythin’ happen to ye.”

  She wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she walked to the rail and leaned against it, looking out over the sea toward the frigate that was surely coming for her. Quietly, she said, “It’s not my own safety that concerns me.”

  He joined her, standing close enough that they could converse without their words being overheard. Softly, he asked, “Whose, then?”

  She just looked pointedly at him, then looked away again, her mouth a tight line.

  “Ah,” he said, and because her hand was only inches from his own, he reached out and covered it with his own.

  She did not pull away.

  Instead, her fingers—slender, soft and colored like the inside of a seashell—wound gently around his. She kept them that way for a long moment, gripping his hand with surprising strength and leaving him to wonder if hers would be the last female touch he ever encountered. One never knew, really, going into battle.

  “I don’t despise you,” she said. “Despite the fact you abducted me, starved me with the worst food I’ve ever been exposed to, and provided me with no change of clothing, you have been nothing but a gentleman toward me and I would hate to see anything happen to you.”