Owen gazed at the patch of land barely visible off the larboard beam. America! How he missed his homeland. It mattered not that he’d been absent for eight years, he couldn’t wait to return. Had returned in fact two years ago just before the war broke out. He’d recently passed the lieutenant’s exam and the Marauder had been assigned to transport British prisoners, who’d escaped from England to America, back to stand trial. He’d managed to slip away from the shore party and make his way home to his mother, who lived in Norfolk with her brother and his family.
Granted, they were overjoyed to see him again, grown and successful and “finally making something of himself.” His mother wept continually, refusing to stop embracing him. But when he expressed a desire to become a privateer in what would surely soon be a war with Britain, his uncle, who had recently been appointed general counsel for the Department of the Navy, pleaded with him to return to the British fleet and spy for America.
Owen instantly regretted telling him that the Marauder‘s next assignment was to cruise the American coast. Besides, how could he convey information from a ship he so rarely left?
“Just one bit of vital information. That’s all we need,” his uncle had said. “Egad, but you are in the perfect position on board a frigate. The Royal Navy use their frigates to pass messages between other ships in the fleet, do they not? You’ll be privy to most of their plans.”
“But certainly I can do more good for my country as a privateer!” Owen returned.
His uncle had leapt to his feet, eyes flashing. “We have many privateers, but if you agree, only one spy on a British ship. Think of what you could learn. A major attack at sea or land, and you would know of it!” His uncle took up a pace before the hearth. “When you come across information that will affect the outcome of the war, desert your ship and bring it to us. War will break out soon, boy. Madison has had enough of British aggression. Our army and navy are nothing compared to Britain’s. Wars are won by good intelligence, Owen, and spies provide that. We need as many men on the inside as we can get.”
Owen rubbed the back of his neck. “Even if I am privy to battle plans, how am I to get them to authorities on land?”
“Supplies—you’ll need to come ashore for supplies. And surely your ship will take part in land raids. Jump overboard when you are close to shore, if you have to. You can find me at the Department of the Navy in Washington. Your country needs you, boy. Now more than ever.”
Owen could not deny the pride he’d felt at his uncle’s confidence in him. He’d never known his father. The man had abandoned him and his mother when Owen was ten. Hence, he’d never known a man’s instruction or guidance or a father’s pride in his accomplishments. Still, when he had hesitated, his uncle had sealed the deal with an offer too good to refuse. If Owen provided crucial information, his uncle would fund a privateer for him to captain for the remainder of the war.
A brisk wind swept over the ship, and Owen closed his eyes for a moment, breathing it in, listening to the creak of wood, dash of water, and clap of sheets. To have his own ship to command, to be free of British regulations and rules, to sail upon the seas wherever he wished … and all in the service of his country. It would be a dream come true!
Yet so far, he’d not been privy to any crucial information. Things were about to change, however. Joining the blockade fleet would grant him opportunities to go ashore on supply runs and raids, where it would be easy to desert the Royal Navy and gain his freedom.
He only needed one piece of information—battle plans, tactics, something huge that would greatly affect the outcome of the war, something he could pass on to the American generals that would change the course of events and give his countrymen a fighting chance.
In the meantime, as much as he hated it, he must remain on this ship. The British navy with all its rules and regulations was enough to leech the life out of a man, and he rued the day eight years ago when his mother had acquired a commission for him through a well-placed family relation in England.
“To make an honorable man out of you,” she had said. “To make straight your wayward ways so you won’t end up like your father.”
Instead, all the eight years of restrictions had done was to make Owen more determined than ever to live out his days in reckless abandon, beholden to nothing and no one.
The sun slipped behind a mountain of green to the west, spreading maroon and golden waves over the treetops. A breeze swept up from the sea, and Owen removed his cocked hat, allowing the air to cool the sweat on his forehead. Up ahead, a forest of bare masts rose to the evening sky—ships guarding the entrance to the Chesapeake—and beyond them to the west sat his hometown of Norfolk. This was the closest he had been in two years. But he could not go home yet.
“Stand by to take in fore-topsail!” he bellowed to Mr. Wells, the midshipman of the watch. “Reef the courses!”
He needed to slow their approach before he signaled the other British ships.
Lieutenant Benjamin Camp left the group of sailors he’d been instructing and took up a spot beside Owen. Wind tore through the light hair beneath his hat as blue eyes shifted his way. Ben had been one of the few bright spots in the past eight years of drudgery. A good friend, a good man—a far better man than Owen would ever be. And the only person who caused Owen to feel a slight twinge of guilt at his betrayal.
His thoughts drifted to the American prisoners and to one American in particular. He needed to see how she fared and then escort her and her companion to their cabin.
“All in all, a good day, wouldn’t you say, Owen?” Ben clasped hands behind his back and squinted at the last rays of the sun.
“A great day for Britain, indeed. A worthy prize and prisoners to boot.”
“Beautiful prisoners.” Ben winked. “I saw the way you looked at her.”
Owen snorted. “You mean the way every sailor looked at her?”
Ben smiled. “She was quite lovely, wasn’t she? And I know your weakness for the gentler sex.”
“She’s our enemy,” Owen spat out, hoping to end the conversation.
“Which makes her all the more vulnerable to your attentions.” Ben gave him a stern look. “Behave the gentleman, Owen.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Owen jerked back his shoulders, feigning indignance.
“She’s a prisoner and not one to be taken advantage of.”
“I own that I may be a rogue as you say, but I would never take advantage of a woman. Can I help it if they all flock unbidden to me?”
Ben shook his head and chuckled. “God may have given you a handsome face and an innate charm, but it is a gift to be used for good and not evil.”
“I have been using it for good. My good.” Owen winked.
“You are incorrigible.” Ben shook his head. “If we succumb to every temptation sent our way, we are no better than animals.”
“Have you considered that perhaps that is all we are?”
“Bah! I will convince you otherwise one of these days.”
Owen smiled at his friend’s constant attempts to entrap him in religious conversations. “I await that miraculous moment.”
Ben smiled in return, then leaned on the railing and shouted to the master to take a sounding.
“Speaking of ladies,” Owen said. “I must be off to get them settled. Send for the captain. He’ll want to signal the ships.”
Leaping down onto the main deck, Owen descended a ladder onto the gun deck and followed a flickering light to the far end where the surgery was located. The lovely American was busy tending to the men, so intent on her ministrations that he hesitated at the edge of the room to watch her.
Blood stained her gown, but she didn’t seem to care as she flitted about from hammock to hammock, offering a smile and a drink. She had treated six men, two of whom were British. And he could not see that she’d shown any favoritism at all. In fact, as she halted now before one of the Marauder’s sailors, she offered him the same kindness as she had just given the American before him.
The older woman followed her, carrying a bucket.
Finally, she moved away from the last patient, placed her hand on her back, and stretched her shoulders. He’d never seen the likes of it. A lady—of some means and status from all appearances—unaffected by blood, getting her hands dirty, and truly caring for the injured, enemy or not.
The ship teetered, and he shifted his boot to catch his balance.
The angel turned. Her eyes latched upon his, fear replacing the exhaustion he first saw within them … along with something else he couldn’t quite place.
Even with her stained gown and loose hair tumbling from her pins, she was a true beauty. And no enemy at all. Hence, he must do his best to protect her and the other prisoners while not raising any suspicions as to his own loyalty. Not an easy feat, by any means.
Emeline didn’t know what to make of the handsome lieutenant leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed, staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. How long had he been there? How much had he seen? The marine he’d ordered to stand guard remained at attention, eyes focused forward, so unflinching during the past few hours that she’d been tempted more than once to tickle him just to get a reaction.
But of course proper ladies didn’t tickle strange men.
The lieutenant continued to stare at her. No, more like admire or perhaps study as one would a new form of species. He stood there in his crisp blue uniform with nine gold buttons down the lapel and a grin on his lips as if he knew a grand secret. Dark brown hair was slicked back in a queue. His jaw was firm, his nose straight and regal, and a small scar cut across his left cheek. But it was his eyes that drew her in. She was not unfamiliar with the particular way he was looking at her, and she almost turned her back to him. But there was something else in their brown depths—a wildness, an intensity that made her throat feel suddenly parched.
Setting down the bucket, Hannah rang out a wet cloth and finally noticed the man.
He started toward them. “You make a good ship’s surgeon, Miss Baratt.”
He remembered her name. She tore her gaze from his. “I am a woman and thus cannot be a surgeon, sir. Not on a ship or anywhere else.” Not that she wanted to be. “Come to lock us in irons?”
“If that is what you prefer.” He grinned, a roguish look that set her off balance. Or was it the sudden tilting of the deck? “But I am to escort you to your cabin when you are finished here. The captain wishes you to join him for dinner.”
“You may tell the captain I do not wish to eat with my enemy. Nor do I have a change of clothes with which to do so.”
The lieutenant seemed amused. “A gown will be provided.”
Hannah fisted her hands at her hips. “Where is my husband?”
His gaze shifted to her, but Emeline saw no indication of anger or even annoyance on his face. “Locked below with the other prisoners.”
“I demand to see ‘im at once.”
“You’ll make no demands on board this ship.” His voice was deep, commanding, and confident, and Emeline could see why men obeyed him. Then as if a cloud moved from above him, his expression softened. “I’ll see if I can arrange a visit.”
“Shall we, ladies?” He swept an arm out, and with it, the scent of the sea and spice wafted over her.
Retreating, Emeline wiped the back of her hand over her cheek and glanced over her patients. “I should remain to tend to these men.”
“Your concern is most admirable, Miss Baratt, but I will have Mr. Oakes tend to their needs. He’s been stepping in ever since our surgeon was blo—” He slammed his mouth shut. “Now, if you please?” He gestured behind him.
“You may forgo the pleasantries, Lieutenant … Masters … was it? I know full well I have no choice in the matter.”
This seemed to elicit yet another smile.
“You both would do well, miss”—his eyes shifted between Emeline and Hannah—“to behave and stay in the captain’s graces. He would not be opposed to tossing you both in the hold with the other prisoners for the remainder of the war.”
His tone carried no threat but oddly bore a hint of pleading, as if he actually cared what would happen to them.
Still, he was a British officer and her enemy, and by the look in his eyes when he glanced her way, he definitely had untoward intentions.
CHAPTER 4
Hannah hefted the gown over Emeline’s head and assisted her arms into the sleeves. “Such a lovely dress. Strange they ‘ad it lyin’ around when no women are aboard.”
“Strange, indeed. And I don’t like wearing it at all.” Emeline allowed the lilac gown to drop to her ankles then stuffed her locket inside the bodice. Grabbing the purple velvet sash, she tied it around her waist. Lace ruffles fringed the neckline, puffed sleeves, and hem, creating a very alluring look, but she wasn’t in any humor to be alluring.
She’d done her best to freshen up with the basin of water and lye soap the cabin boy had delivered, but the metallic scent of blood and sweat still rose from her skin.
She glanced down. “Whoever owned this gown was much better endowed in the chest than I am. I hardly fill out half of it on top.”
“Ah, dear, but it looks lovely on you anyway. ‘Ere, sit down.”
Emeline lowered to the only chair in a cabin not much bigger than the one she’d had on her father’s brig. “Why am I making myself presentable anyway? I don’t want to eat dinner with these men, enemies all of them.”
Hannah began working on Emeline’s hair. “That handsome lieutenant don’t seem too bad. He were kind to us. Better than expected, I’d say.”
“That’s because he wants something, Hannah. He doesn’t even know us. Why else would he be kind?”
“Posh, now, don’t be too quick to judge. These men may be Brits, but they’re God’s creation too. ‘Sides, he were right about one thing. It would be good to stay in the captain’s graces.”
“I will not lower myself to play the coquette with the man.”
“I’m not sayin’ you should, dear. But why not convince ‘im you’re not ‘is enemy?”
“Of course I’m his enemy. I was born and raised in Baltimore.”
“But you spent the past two years in England.” Hannah raised a brow, her eyes twinkling.
“I don’t understand.”
Grabbing pins from the table, Hannah began piling up Emeline’s hair. “They don’t know why you were sent there or for ‘ow long. Why not tell them your loyalties are wit’ Britain?”
Outrageous! She’d never be able to accomplish such a deception. Besides, proper ladies didn’t lie. “Don’t be ridiculous. They know my father owns a privateer.”
Hannah stood back to examine her work, hands on her hips, her cheeks rosy and eyes alive. “Well, it will ‘ave to do. You look stunning as always. And many Americans ‘ave family back in England loyal to the Crown.”
Emeline was pondering these things when Lieutenant Masters appeared at her door to escort her to dinner. A marine stood beside him.
The handsome lieutenant dipped his head. “I’ve made arrangements for Mrs. Keate to visit her husband.”
No sooner had he spoken the words than a shout of glee sounded from behind Emeline as Hannah rushed forward.
“ ’Ow kind o’ you, sir.”
“Mr. Tamson will escort you below, allow you to stay for twenty minutes, and then bring you back here where I’ve ordered a steward to bring your supper.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Hannah stepped into the narrow hallway and cast Emeline a glance of reassurance.
“My pleasure.” He proffered his elbow for Emeline to take, but instead, she shut the cabin door and gripped her hands in front of her.
Clearing his throat, he started walking. “This way then.”
Why he’d offered his hand, she couldn’t say, because the narrow hall would not accommodate two of them side by side. It was impossible not to notice how tall he was. His hatless head skimmed the deckhead even as his shoulders brushed against t
he walls on either side. The scent of lye and spice and the sea showered back over her—a pleasant enough scent.
“Thank you for allowing Hannah to see her husband, Lieutenant,” she said as they passed a ladder leading down and then a closed door. “Though I can hardly credit the kindness to an enemy.”
“Enemy is a relative term, Miss Baratt.”
She found his reply odd as she peered around him to see a marine standing guard outside another closed door.
He nodded to the marine who opened the door for them. Then halting, the lieutenant gestured for her to enter first.
Clutching her skirts, she turned sideways, attempting to squeeze past without touching him.
No such luck. Her bodice brushed against his chest ever so slightly in passing.
“Even enemies can be kind now and then, Miss Baratt,” he whispered in a sultry tone as she passed, his warm breath wafting upon her. Against her will, her face heated, and she was sure it had turned red in the process. The rake!
She hurried into the cabin, doing her best to hide her embarrassment. Five men seated around an oblong table rose to their feet, all eyes latching upon her. Candles set in silver holders flickered from the table, which was filled with steaming bowls, pitchers, platters of meat, and baskets of biscuits. Such a feast she had not expected on board a ship and certainly did not get on board the Charlotte. Her traitorous stomach growled, thankfully drowned out by the purl of water against the hull and the creak and groan of the ship’s timbers.
Beyond the table, stern windows revealed a night sky sprinkled with stars while the rest of the cabin was well appointed with furniture and trinkets of the highest quality—a mahogany desk littered with various maps, navigational instruments, quill pens, and an hourglass; a sideboard on which sat a silver-lidded claret jug and several cut-glass decanters; a cot, massive trunk, and fitted racks that held books of every size and color.
Uncomfortable beneath their gazes, she allowed Lieutenant Masters to lead her to a seat between two men on the right side.
“I am pleased you could join us,” the captain said as he gestured for her to sit, a polite smile on his face. He was an attractive, commanding man, around forty years of age, with a strong chin and jaw and dark eyes to match his hair. Streaks of gray spanning from his temple made him look more distinguished than old.
The Liberty Bride Page 3