Apparently they were equally dangerous to each other, because when she glanced over his shoulder she could see the eyes of all the shipmen were riveted to the pair of them standing by the railing, barely holding back their desire for one another. Their conversation was causing great interest, which was quite the opposite of Roderick’s intention. Maisie felt she must redeem the situation, or he would soon realize that himself, and become grumpy with her once more.
“Captain, set me to work and be quick about it, for you are making the situation even more of a temptation than it already was.” She gave him a warning glance to indicate that she was also being affected by their exchange.
A wry smile passed over his face. “On that point we are both agreed. It seems we are well matched in carnal matters.” He turned away in order to escort her across the deck, but lowered his voice as he did so, ducking down to add a final comment. “In fact, I look forward to working off this mutual temptation later, when we’re alone.”
His promise made Maisie breathless, and she almost stumbled as she anticipated what might pass between them later that day. Before she had a chance to respond, he gripped her upper arm with one hand, directing her across the deck.
All eyes were upon them.
As they walked, Roderick issued orders to the men nearby, sending them scurrying back to their tasks. Maisie noticed that most of them were barefoot, as if it was safer to be that way as they went about their duties on the decks or clambered up the poles and ropes.
Grappling for an appropriate comment, she gestured at a man pacing up and down the deck, dragging a broom covered in a wet cloth over the boards. “I could assist there,” she said. “I’m able to clean floors.”
Roderick shook his head. “It isn’t cleaning. He’s wetting the planks to keep the caulking tight.”
As she had quickly gathered the night before, seafarers seemed to have their own language, much as those who practiced witchcraft did, using words passed down from generation to generation, understood only by their own kind.
“It keeps the ship from leaking,” Roderick added, when she gave him a questioning glance. He gestured at a slender lad who stood at the far railing. “Come, if you wish to help, you can work alongside Adam. He is a young Dutchman only on his fifth month with us. It will be a blessing that he has someone to focus him. He is a mite too eager to get beyond himself and set about tasks that he is not yet ready for, but if you are by his side I warrant he will not stray.”
Roderick made a gruff introduction, gave her a last lingering glance, then left them and resumed his duties on the deck above.
Maisie attached herself to the young lad, who was shy and awkward and much younger than she. His face flushed regularly while in her company. His current task was tackling a pile of filthy clothing. Maisie watched with curiosity as he tied items to a rope and then lowered the laden line over the side of the ship until it was immersed in the water.
She leaned over the railing to observe. “How clever.”
Adam grinned.
Holding tight to the rope, which was obviously no easy task, he let it drag through the waves alongside the ship in an effort to rid the clothing of dirt. Maisie watched what he did, and then assisted by lifting the garments from the pail he dropped them in after their dip, and squeezing them out. The hard work felt good and she was glad to be useful, though her hands became red and sore. It was no easy life being aboard ship, but at that point in her young life the work felt honest. And the basic conditions and presence of many toiling together aboard the vessel appealed to her because of her previous isolation.
Every once in a while a bell was rung. “What is the bell for?”
“It marks the half hour, so that men know when their watches end and they can rest.”
“Ah. Thank you.” She smiled at the lad.
Once again, he blushed.
Maisie estimated he was no more than sixteen. Roderick had picked her a good companion to work with. The other, older men were less friendly, watching her with suspicion that aroused a sense of foreboding in her bones, the wariness that Cyrus had taught her to feel whenever attention was on her. It made her think that the shipmen might know the truth about her, but she reminded herself of the captain’s warning, that the men simply did not want a woman aboard. There was no reason they would think her anything other than a normal young woman who wished to travel to her kin.
When she occasionally craned her neck she could see men moving about on the level above. Roderick was there. She noticed how he checked the wind, the sails and the waters every few moments, acting on instinct, it seemed. When he called out for a sail change, he watched as the sailors leaped into action. His crew trusted him, and he didn’t want to put that at risk. He’d said he was responsible for everyone aboard, herself included. Maisie gained new, deeper respect for him as she watched him at work.
Later, she helped Adam gather rainwater from a barrel for the crew to drink as they came to the end of their watches. When she asked him a question, he often spoke in a foreign tongue before translating, the language of his own country.
“There is not much here,” she commented as the lad clambered almost wholly over the rim of the barrel to scoop out another flagon’s-worth from low inside.
“Ja. There was no time to take water on in London. Is bad.” He shook his head. “Three days out of port, there is only rum and grog to drink, but we will call at Lowestoft tomorrow and there will be new water then.” He grinned.
“Lowestoft?” Roderick had mentioned it. She had also heard the name before that, perhaps in her lessons, perhaps elsewhere in conversation. It was a port on the east coast of England. Maisie did not know how far they had traveled, so was unable to gauge how much farther it was until they reached Scotland. The captain had said they would be in Dundee within the week. That was pleasing enough. It would have taken her much longer by coach.
Adam nodded his head at the captain’s first mate, the man called Brady. “He visits with his woman there every time we pass this place, Lowestoft.”
Maisie was intrigued. Brady was the one who had given her the most suspicious looks of all the night before, and yet he had a woman of his own, something she did not imagine many of the other men had. Back at Billingsgate he’d shown his disapproval of her quite openly.
She watched as Roderick ambled over to Brady, and cocked her head to hear his voice.
“Pray for an east wind,” he told his first mate, “otherwise it will take the best part of a fortnight to reach the borderland.”
Pray for an east wind. Maisie turned away quickly, lest he see her furrowed brow.
Staring up at the skies, she observed what he had—endless blue skies strewn with wisps of cloud that did not move. It was her fault, because of her earlier experiment stilling the rough waters. She had inadvertently slowed the passage of the ship in her moment of exaltation. Her belly churned as she realized her mistake. Now she would have to rectify that. It was not her intention to create magic anywhere she might be observed, but it seemed she must correct her earlier error and be quick about it.
With her head turned to the waves, so no one might observe, she beckoned the east wind to them, quietly chanting the ancient words that harnessed the elements. A moment later, her hair swept up, lifted by a dramatic change in the breeze that pulled it free of its pins. It was exciting to see the clouds scudding across the sky once more. Her magic had always been powerful, nurtured as it was by her guardian, but she had been able to contain her reaction. To see her gift realized out here on the open seas caused her to be elated. The ship swayed dramatically, but Maisie was quickly able to adjust her stance, moving in rhythm to counter each pitch and toss.
She didn’t dare turn back and see Roderick’s reaction. She heard him nonetheless, commenting on it and referring to their luck. When his voice faded, she glanced quickly and saw him stride back toward the place he had called the helm. The deck rolled and pitched, and more sails were unraveled to catch the wind on his
order.
Then she heard another voice, close by. “I recognize that tongue. It was Pictish.”
Maisie spun on her heel.
“Those words were Pictish, were they not?”
Her heart beat wildly. She’d been observed making magic.
The man before her was aged, his face deeply wrinkled, his hair and beard full and white. Maisie recalled him from the night before. He’d been one of the three men who stood waiting for the captain to return from town, and he’d scaled the nets almost as fast as his counterparts, despite the fact she could now see how bent over he was.
There was a watchful, suspicious look in his wily eyes.
The fear and caution that Cyrus had bred in her thundered back tenfold, stripping her of the pleasure that she’d had in the magical moment, unnerving her once more. “Always protect yourself,” Master Cyrus had instructed. “Never let anyone know, never let anyone but me see what you can do. If you do, you risk facing what your mother faced.”
It was every bit as dangerous as her master had warned. She was barely two days away from him, and someone had observed her making magic.
“Words my mother taught me,” she replied. That much was true. “From an old song about the Highlands.” That part was somewhat embroidered, but she was eager to deflect his attention.
“A song from the Highlands?” He cocked his head. “Now that would be most pleasing to hear.”
The man was barely as high as her shoulder, crooked as he was. Yet when he peered at her, Maisie felt his scrutiny. Had he recognized the words? He knew their origins, but did he know their meaning? It was hard to gauge how much danger she was in.
She offered him a smile, hoping it might sweeten him. “I know some songs.”
“All Pictish?”
She shook her head. “I know only a few lines of the old tongue, but I also speak Gaelic and Scottish. I can sing a song from the Highlands for you in English, if it pleases you.”
He stared at her still, waiting on the song, beady eyes narrowed.
Maisie took a deep breath. She did not sing often, but she was well trained in protecting herself by any means necessary. Master Cyrus had taught her she should fear for her life on such occasions and do whatever necessary to avert suspicion.
She cast her mind back. Their mother would sing to them about their birthplace in the Highlands whenever they were unsettled and afraid, and her voice had made the three Taskill children calm and happy. Maisie didn’t know if she could sing that way, but she thought of her mother—of the time before her life was so cruelly ended—and she heard her mother’s voice in her mind. It wasn’t often that Maisie went back there in her memories, but when she did they were so vivid. She saw her mother’s face as she had been—hopeful in her quest to find her errant husband, the man who had left them because he didn’t understand his wife’s witchcraft and could not come to terms with magical bairns. Their mother’s love for him still thrived, and it drew the family in his wake to the Lowlands, where they were torn apart by the death and destruction that followed.
“Hush now,” her mother’s voice said in her mind, “never fear. We must be what we are, come what may, and not be ashamed.”
Maisie smarted with pain. She had been taught to live differently since her mother was put to death. She’d been taught to hide and be afraid.
But now she heard her mother’s voice raised in song, proudly singing a song of the Highlands, and breath surged in Maisie’s lungs.
CHAPTER NINE
“My love, I could sing of the whispering sea,
In the calm of a winter’s night,
My love, I could sing of the trembling stars,
And the flickering northern light,
And the moon, and the winds, and the barren isles,
With the clinging mists of rain,
But my soul doth flee, over the moaning sea,
To a lovely Highland glen.”
* * *
Roderick stared across the deck at his unexpected passenger and found himself utterly entranced.
Her voice was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. The very air seemed to be shot through with it, making every one of the shipmen cease work and turn her way.
Roderick could not bring himself to order them back to their tasks, for the words she sang touched him deeply, and he strained against the elements to hear every one.
“My love, the restless surges moan
In the gloom of the ocean caves,
My love, fast falls the waning moon
Beneath the glittering waves.
I could dream of isles in the tropic seas,
Where Winter’s ire is vain,
But my soul doth flee, o’er the moaning sea,
To a lovely Highland glen.”
Roderick glanced at the men around him and saw that they were as moved as he was, seafaring men one and all, but they kept the memory of their homeland—whether it be Scotland or Holland—close to their hearts, and the song made them think of the place they carried in their own hearts.
“Oh, give me the breath of the moorland wide,
On the breast of the azure ben,
Oh, give me the boundless sky above,
And the golden burn in the glen.
Show me the birch and the rowan tree,
And the land in sun or rain.”
Across the deck she looked his way, and Roderick could see that even while she sang, she was fretful. Why? What had Clyde said to her? Moreover, why did her mood call to him, forcing him to her side, no matter what the consequences?
On she sang.
“Oh, the heath and the bracken call to me,
From that lovely Highland glen.
May I linger there with you, my love,
On a future summer day.”
When she reached the final words her glance lingered on him a moment, then she looked about. Roderick could see she was startled to find the entire crew had paused to listen to her. Once again she had drawn their attention. He could not blame them. However, what he should be doing was telling her more sternly to go below deck and stay there, out of view of the men. Sight of her would only cause grievance amongst the men, for her presence broke the ship’s rules. Yet when he’d set eyes on her earlier, nothing else had seemed to matter.
Gone was the deeply solemn air that she’d had about her when they first met the evening before. He was glad of that. Was it familiarity with her that made him look upon her in a different way? No, she was different. For a moment pride leaped in him, when it occurred to him that he had brought it out in her. Roderick could scarcely turn his gaze away. How beautiful she was, with her hair drifting on the breeze, her cheeks glowing and a smile on her face that seemed only for him—a secret smile that told him she was thinking about what had passed between them. That made him crave her again.
It was more than that, though. Moments after she had set foot above deck it was as if the day became brighter. The sun gleamed on the crests of the waves. And when she stood in the prow, chin lifted to the breeze, he could see the thrill on her face as the wind tugged at her hair. Even the wind had turned in their favor when she smiled.
He strode across the deck to her side, gesturing to the men as he went, indicating they should get back to their duties now.
She watched him close in on her and there was trepidation in her expression.
“You have the voice of an angel,” he commented, eager to put her at ease.
Visibly relieved, she wilted against the railing at her back. “I’m glad you liked the song.”
“The voice of an angel sounds every bit as sweet on a Jezebel.” It was Clyde who had spoken.
“Jezebel?” Maisie repeated in a shocked tone.
Roderick shook his head.
Clyde gave her a toothless grin.
Roderick frowned at the old man. “You have been treated to a song. Do not cast aspersions.”
“Aspersions? What aspersions? I haven’t yet decided whether this particular Jezebel
is a good woman or a bad.”
Roderick noticed how distressed she became on hearing that, lifting her hand to her throat as if she feared for her life. He frowned. “Clyde, I forbid you to jest about our passenger.”
The old sailor gave him a knowing glance, but did not respond. Nor did he move away. It was as if he truly didn’t trust the woman. What grounds did he have for that? True enough, not one of them knew anything about her. Roderick had wondered about her origins several times himself that day. That was no reason to make her afraid. With a disparaging glance, he barked out an order. “You have duties to occupy you elsewhere.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Clyde limped away, but with frequent glances back over his shoulder, as if he meant to keep watching.
Maisie watched him as he went, and she looked concerned.
“What did he say to upset you?”
Her head jerked up. Studying him with surprise in her eyes, she denied it. “He didn’t upset me. I think he heard me humming to myself and he asked for a song, that’s all.”
“You were nervous to sing?”
She nodded. “I have not sung that song since I was a child.”
“Now that you are Scotland bound it has come back to you.”
“Yes.” She lowered her voice. “I was discouraged from thinking of my homeland for many years.”
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