by Hays, Lara
I cried until I vomited in the chamber pot and then I cried some more. My father was dead.
After the second bell of the middle watch, a soft rap sounded at the door. I stifled my sobs and waited for an indication of danger.
“Miss Monroe? Please open the door.”
I ambled to my feet, despite the stiffness in my legs, and wiped my eyes before opening the door.
The silhouette of Nicholas stood in the doorway. “Are you hungry?”
My stomach growled in response. “I suppose so.”
“Let’s get you something to eat then.”
I rummaged through the bed linens and found the sheet I had used as a cover before and draped it over my shoulders.
Nicholas scanned me from head to toe. “That’s hardly effective.”
“I suppose you think I should go without?”
With an amused smile, Nicholas shrugged off his canvas jacket and handed it to me.
Instinctively, I took the jacket and put it on. It still held the sailor’s warmth. The hem hit me below the knees and the sleeves swallowed my arms. It hadn’t been properly laundered in ages—at one time it was probably white but now the canvas was a sodden grey. I wrapped it around my torso, feeling surprisingly safe. It smelled of heady musk and ocean brine—a scent I found oddly pleasing.
Nicholas offered his arm to me. I hesitated, but took it. It was too dark for me to make my way alone on an unfamiliar ship.
He hurried me out of the corridor, across the main deck, down a steep ladder into a pitch-black room, and then released my arm. I stood as still as a statue, afraid of what I might run into if I tried to follow his footsteps in the darkness.
A moment later, a lantern blazed with life, flooding the ship’s galley with light. The perimeter of the room was dotted with mismatched cabinets and oversized barrels. A heavy, worn table filled its center.
Nicholas lifted the lantern and turned towards me. I stifled a gasp.
He was beautiful.
The firelight danced on high cheekbones, emphasizing the chiseled angles of his face. His jaw was strong, his lips full. Tawny skin was offset by dark curls tied at the nape of his neck with a red bandanna. The sun had lightened several tendrils to the color of honey. His raw features were so unlike the pasty British gentlemen I was accustomed to.
Realizing I was staring at him slack-jawed, I broke my trance and shuffled forward a few awkward steps.
“Hang the lantern, will you? Right there?” Nicholas gestured to a hook above the table.
Was I his maid now? Before I could refuse, he pressed the lantern into my hand. A sudden charge surged through me when our fingers touched. I turned away quickly and hung the lantern as I had been asked.
Nicholas lit several tallow candles and busied himself in the kitchen. “Not much in the way of fine dining, but a full stomach will help some,” he said with a warm smile.
I sat on a barrel and watched.
Confident that the shadows of the lantern hid my eyes, I stared unabashedly at the stranger as he fished around the cupboards and drawers. His every movement was fluid and lissome, like a choreographed dance. He was tall and muscular, with a wide chest that narrowed into a taut waist. He wore the traditional uniform of a sailor: bare feet, dark canvas breeches, a leather belt, and a white linen shirt with billowing sleeves.
Nicholas wore two things I did not expect. The first was a leather baldric that hung over one shoulder, crossing his chest and securing a pistol and sword at the hip. Ornate carvings, metal rivets, and a series of gilded buckles conveyed its value. It surprised me to see a common sailor with such a beautiful piece of finery. Beyond that, his weaponry concerned me. What need would a common sailor have to be armed as such? The other surprising item Nicholas wore was a crucifix on long, golden chain around his neck. Though unassuming, the value of such a thing was undeniable.
As I examined Nicholas’s necklace, I found my eyes tracing his collarbone and the curve of his muscles as they disappeared under the thin fabric. Blood pumped into my cheeks. I looked away quickly.
While lighting a fire in the rickety stove, Nicholas said, “How about a proper introduction, Miss Monroe? Tell me your Christian name.”
I still had not decided whether I liked this man, and I debated if I should answer him. Under normal circumstances, I would not. He was vulgar and familiar. But as I caught my eyes wandering the planes of his chest yet again, I wondered if I was more irritated at his manners or at my own lack of offense at them.
“My name is Tessa,” I finally answered.
“Tessa,” he repeated to himself. “It fits. And you are from England.” It was not a question.
I nodded.
“Age?”
“Seventeen.”
“And what possessed you to journey to these blistering islands?”
A sting of untapped grief taunted me as I thought of my father. I answered carefully, defying the lump rising in my throat. “My father…we’re sailing to St. Kitts. He is an admiral in the British Navy and was reassigned.”
The sailor said nothing as he prepared a stew in a large pot.
I sat as straight as I could and asked the question I had been dreading, “What happened?”
“Hurricane,” he said simply. After a beat, he continued, “We nigh missed it ourselves. North up, near Grand Bahama. Got a strong wind out of that one. When the rains stopped, we saw shredded planks floating all over, and there you were, drifting along in a jollyboat. Thought we had us a corpse when first caught hold of you.”
I pictured how I must have looked drifting lazily in a jollyboat amidst all the wreckage, amidst all the drowning men. What a fantastical image.
“You found just me?” I asked, not wanting to believe my father, Lucia, or any of the crew with whom I had become acquainted had all perished
“Aye, lass. Just you, a lot of broken wood, and several barrels of rum.”
“You must send out a search party. Search for survivors.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Would be worthless to search. No survivors.”
I recoiled at his indifference. “Well, I survived, didn’t I? Did you even bother to look?”
“Of course we looked,” replied Nicholas hotly. “We scavenged the entire wreckage for anything of value.”
“Barrels of rum, you mean.”
“Human life, I mean.” He gave me a condescending scowl.
I hated this man. He was rash and rude and I didn’t believe a word he said.
“Go back,” I demanded. “Search again.”
Nicholas ignored me.
“I said, go back. I survived. Others probably did too.”
“It’s been four days. There is no one else. Going back would be a waste of time.”
I crossed my arms in protest. “How can you be so cruel? Indulge me. Please, sir. Turn back.”
Nicholas turned from the stove and slammed his hands down on the table. I jumped at the noise. “First—you are not the captain. I do not take orders from a foolish girl. Second—I am not the captain so the choice is not mine. And third—it’s been too long. Accept the reality. You are the only survivor.”
I looked away, tears filling my eyes at the sting of his words.
He stared at me stupidly as my trickle of tears turned in to sobbing. His hardened face melted with a sigh.
“Don’t cry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh. So cruel, as you say. I’m sorry, Tessa.”
“Call me Miss Monroe,” I demanded.
Nicholas shrugged. “I have no use for propriety.”
“And I have no use for you.” I stood up and marched towards the ladder.
Nicholas rushed forward and caught my elbow. “You can’t go up there.”
I whirled at him. “You are not the captain. I do not take orders from foolish sailors.”
Laughter erupted from the hardened sailor. I stood dumbfounded, watching as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Tessa, I like you. I really, real
ly like you. Won’t be long until I fall in love with you. I’m halfway there already.”
My eyebrows knit into an incredulous scowl. Was he serious?
Nicholas chuckled at my expression. “You will fall for me too. It won’t be one-sided, I promise.”
My jaw dropped. This man belonged in a madhouse. I inwardly vowed that would never happen.
“Easy now, luv. Time will prove it. For now, sit back down. The night is young.”
CHAPTER THREE
I sank back into my chair uneasily.
Nicholas placed two wooden cups on the table. I sniffed at the contents. The alcoholic stench of rum burned my nostrils. I pushed the cup away in disgust. Rum was not an appropriate drink for a lady.
The sailor took a hearty swig from the cup in front of him. He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Fairly fresh.”
“Is there anything…else? Perhaps tea?”
“Tea?” he smirked. “A high demand for the middle of the ocean. Ain’t nothing but rum here.”
I nodded once and willed myself to take a sip. My throat burned and my eyes watered. An involuntary cough escaped my lips. Nicholas chuckled softly.
He crossed to the stove and ladled stew into two tin bowls.
He was relaxed enough in the silence, but I was uncomfortable beyond measure. I did not know how to conduct myself. This man—this sailor—had no sense of propriety whatsoever. Yet an alliance with him was proving paramount. I forced myself to continue our conversation.
“Would you please tell me your full name?”
“Nicholas Holladay.” He spoke with a slight sailor brogue that made everything he said sound poetic. “But around here, everyone calls me Marks on account of me being such a good marksman,” he patted the pistol dangling from his baldric.
“What’s your position?”
“I am an officer here. I guess you’d call me the first mate.” He met my eyes and puffed his chest.
Second-in-command of the ship. Though lacking the attitude of a gentleman, he was far above the station of working-class sailors. I esteemed him more.
Nicholas placed the bowls of cloudy liquid and a plate of flattened rolls on the table. “A feast for a sailor. Eat up.”
I reached for one of the flattened rolls first because it was the most recognizable thing before me. It was crusty to the touch, and when I tried to take a bite from it, the roll resisted my teeth and a mist of chalky crumbs fell into my stew. It was entirely inedible.
“What? You’ve never had hardtack before?”
“I…uh…”
“And you call yourself an admiral’s daughter. Tsk, tsk. I’m sure you had a constant supply of tea and crumpets. Puddings and pastries, too.”
His lips curled into a boyish grin as he picked up an identical rock-hard roll and dipped it in his stew, letting it absorb the liquid. He bit off the soggy corner.
Copying Nicholas, I soaked my hardtack in my stew. The result, if not palatable, was at least edible.
Nicholas watched me eat. “I suppose somethin’ as common as hardtack is far beneath your status.”
I pushed away my food. “You think I’m somehow less than you because you eat hardtack every day? Because I am thousands of miles away from the only home I’ve ever known and I am orphaned?”
I tried to hold back the tears the welled in my eyes.
Memories of my final moments with my father replayed themselves. He had been so composed in the face of death just to reassure me. I must have gone under the water. He pulled me out, kept my head above the waves. As his last act, he used all his strength to roll his unconscious daughter into the rescue boat meant for him. Exhausted, he succumbed to the pull of the ocean.
And now I was wholly alone. Alive, yes. But barely. What would come next? Where would I go? Who would watch after me? What was I to do?
Too many questions and not a single answer.
My world had once consisted of a loving father, devoted servants, a beautiful home, and any opportunity I could dream of. And now my world comprised the dank galley of a strange ship, food barely fit for swine, and the flimsy comfort of a filthy jacket.
I gave in to the tears and buried my head in my arms on the tabletop.
If I was aware that Nicholas was watching me, I did not care. He was an intruder in my very small world. No pride or sense of decency compelled me to harness my emotions. I refused to listen as Nicholas called to me, trying to pull me out of my hysteria.
“Tessa,” Nicholas gently prodded.
I would not let myself stop crying, for then I might lose the only thing that had given me reprieve from my new and painful existence.
“Please, Tessa,” Nicholas tried again. He draped his arm across my shaking shoulders. Without further invitation I fell into his embrace, craving the warmth and comfort that only another human could provide. My face pressed against the smooth skin of his neck and my arms found solace against his chest.
If I had been coherent, I would have recognized the sailor’s slight stiffening at my very forward move. I would have been embarrassed by his awkward hesitation. But all I knew was that within a moment his uncomfortable stature softened and he wound his arms around me into a protective cocoon. I cried against his shoulder for longer than I knew, coughing on sobs I could not control.
Finally, the sobs subsided into pathetic whimpers. My eyes burned with sorrow but were out of tears. As I calmed myself, the nature of my surroundings rushed back into my chaotic consciousness. I was suddenly aware of Nicholas’s airy, marine scent, and the feel of my skin on his. Awkwardly, I noticed how thin his shirt was. I could feel every line of his body beneath the fabric.
I had forgotten myself. How had I let myself get so familiar with a stranger? Here I was, in the arms of a man—a sailor—almost sitting on his lap and crying into his shoulder. I was wearing his coat!
I pulled away from Nicholas’s warmth with my head down and reoriented myself on my stool. My fluttering hands quickly dabbed at my eyes and nose, wiping all traces of moisture away. I attempted to smooth my hair, but it was a futile task. I dared not think of what I must look like. I stole a quick glance at my companion. His eyes were wide with a sort of surprised worry. Feminine hysterics were not something he was used to dealing with.
I straightened my posture and turned my attention to my meal, avoiding any further eye contact.
As I finished my last bites of stale broth, Nicholas broke the silence. “The watch ends soon. Let’s get you back to my room.”
Stunned out of my embarrassment, I looked at him wide-eyed. This had gone too far. I had allowed this heathen to become too familiar with me. “Sir, I know I have been anything but proper tonight, but I doubt I have made any impression whatsoever that would elicit such an offer!”
A look of confusion creased Nicholas’s brow, then an apologetic grin flashed across his beautiful lips. He let out a low chuckle. “No. Not like that. The room where you have been sleeping, well, that’s the first mate’s quarters. My room. I’ve been staying in the fo’c’sle with the rest of the crew. I did not mean …” he trailed off.
As his words sunk in, humiliation replaced my alarm. My face flushed.
Nicholas looked for my understanding then continued, “I meant that you can go back to that room, alone, and rest up.”
I nodded in concession and braved another swallow of rum. Although I had already slept for four days, the exhaustion from my sobbing coupled with the soothing effects of the alcohol made me feel as if I could sleep for four more. I was eager to be alone. I wanted as little as possible to do with any of the sailors on the ship—including Nicholas.
Suddenly, Nicholas leaned in close to me and took my hands in his. Before I could pull them away, I felt the same rush of electricity I felt when our fingers brushed before.
“Listen, lass, you have no reason to believe a word I say. Asking you to trust me is asking more than I deserve. But I need you to…just try to trust me on this one thing. These sailors are not…g
entlemen.” He chose his words cautiously. “They will be…unsavory once they learn that you are awake. Best to avoid the lot of them. Just stay in the cabin and sleep.”
It was a warning I did not need. My father had made certain I was well aware of the distasteful habits of sailors. They were a breed apart, he cautioned, and only lived for pleasure. I clearly understood that a young woman such as myself could be used for pleasure in the most unpleasant of ways.
“What should I do if I need something?”
“That is where I come in,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile. “I will check in and make sure you have everything you need. Tomorrow night, I’ll come to you when it is safe to come out.”
I rolled my eyes. He obviously relished acting as my savior.
Nicholas stood, still holding my hand, and pulled me until I was standing next to him. I pulled my hand back but he didn’t let go. Before I knew it, he extinguished the lantern and candles and we were left in utter blackness. I feebly admitted to myself that I was glad for his solid grip. He stole up the ladder and peeked across the main deck before leading me across the ship in the wan light of the early morning.
As we stepped into the corridor, I pointed to the door across from mine and started to ask who slept there. Nicholas anticipated my question and pressed his salty forefinger across my parted lips, shushing me. He leaned close into my ear and barely whispered, “Captain’s quarters.”
Nicholas guided me across the cabin threshold without crossing it himself. He let go of my hand and began to close the door.
I blocked the door from closing and Nicholas looked at me quizzically.
“Mr. Holladay, what will happen next?”
He fixed my gaze for a moment, then replied simply, “I will get you somewhere safe.”
It was a vague answer, but it was an answer I wanted to hear, needed to hear. His eyes never wavered from mine and I was transfixed by his stare. The pealing of a bell broke the moment and Nicholas closed the door quickly, leaving me alone in my prison.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dawn strained to break and its faint glow made it easier to assess the cabin I had been banished to. When I stretched both my arms out, my fingertips barely brushed both walls of the narrow room. A thin, straw-filled mattress on a wooden shelf served as the bed. No window. No touch of design. It was simply a wooden box. A coffin.