Bound By The Heart

by Canham, Marsha

  "W-we were on board the Sea Vixen, sir. B-bound for B-Bridgetown. The storm this morning...yesterday morning...we were thrown overboard."

  "The Sea Vixen?" The man's black eyebrows furrowed together.

  "Out of S-Southampton, sir. And then New Providence."

  "An English ship?"

  Michael managed a nod through his shivering. "She stopped in the Bahamas first, sir. I b-boarded her in New Providence."

  The incredibly dark blue eyes narrowed further, and he raised a hand to someone standing nearby. A huge, muscular black man stepped forward, his ebony skin gleaming in the lantern light as if it had been oiled. He moved the lantern closer to the two sodden figures, holding it over their heads, and in the blurry mist, it looked like a large yellow eye.

  "You are the whelp of Sir Lionel Cambridge, are you not?" the first man demanded.

  Michael blinked in the harsh light, plainly startled. "H-how did you know that?"

  He smiled humorlessly. "I've run the Chimera into Bridgetown a time or two, lad. I've also run into Sir Lionel and his pompous excise men."

  Michael's jaw dropped. "The Chimera?"

  "Aye. You've heard mention of her?"

  "S-some," Michael said, nearly choking on the understatement.

  The midnight blue eyes shifted back to Summer. "And the silent mermaid here? Who might she be?"

  Summer felt Michael's fingers dig into her arm, delivering a warning. "She...she's my governess, sir. B-Bridget. Bridget is her name."

  "Governess, eh? Well she scratches like a bloody she-cat. She's damned lucky I didn't just push her under and leave her for the sharks, though I expect I would have feared for the sharks." He weathered the roll of laughter from the crew, then raised his head, staring intently up at the sails for a long moment. "Mr. Monday, I do believe we are tasting a breeze off the bow. I will want more sail aft to see if we can't catch into it."

  "Yas, Cap-tan." The negro grinned, an enormous slash of white across the dark face, then turned quickly, handing the brass lantern to another crewman. He began shouting orders and within seconds, men were scrambling up the rigging, hastening to adjust the lines and yards.

  Michael's jaw, if possible, dropped further. "Captain? Y-you are...Captain Morgan Wade?"

  The dark blue eyes gleamed a moment. "I am indeed, boy. And you are in the way. Thorny!"

  A scrawny, wizened gnome of a man hobbled forward. He had short-cropped gray stubble covering his head, with wisps spiking out above each ear. His eyes were sunk into folds of leathery crow's feet, and when he spoke, it was out of the corner of his mouth past his only two remaining front teeth, one of which was on top, one on the bottom. "Aye Cap'n? Where d'ye want me ter put 'em?"

  Wade's gaze raked carelessly over Summer's soaked and clinging muslin smock. "We are not a passenger ship, Mr. Thorntree, but you'd best put them in my cabin for now."

  "Aye, Cap'n."

  "E-excuse me, Captain, sir..." Michael halted Wade before he could vault up the ladderway to the foredeck.

  "What is it, boy?"

  "W-we have not thanked you. For rescuing us. I am certain Father will r-reward you handsomely as soon as we r-reach Bridgetown."

  The captain grinned. "I am certain he will too, boy. Quite handsomely. Now go with Thorny and don't make a nuisance of yourselves."

  Michael stared after him as he swung his large frame easily up the wooden ladderway and instantly forgot them.

  Thorny poked his arm. "Ye'd best not make a nuisance, lad. N'owt to the Cap'n, any road. The devil 'imself taken to the 'igh seas 'ee is, and n'owt one fer being pestered with questions and argumentations. Ee'd as like t'row ye back where ee found ye as carry ye ter port. Now foller me. Both of ye."

  Michael helped Summer, whose legs were still shaky and weak. "We are ever so grateful Captain Wade is willing to fetch us back to Bridgetown."

  "Eh? Bridgetown?" The old sailor cackled. "N'owt likely, lad. Barbados is back that-a-way—" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then pointed a finger forward— "and we be bound this-a-way."

  "B-but...my father is Sir Lionel Cambridge! The governor of Barbados!"

  "Aye, a ripe fine barstard ee is too. An' ee'll still be the guv'ner next month an' next year, so stow yer 'igh fangled notions that ye'll earn any extra privileges on board the Kameery just cause yer a nob's son an' ye raise yer pinkie when ye sup tea. As a fact, ye should just be thankful the Cap'n's in a ripe fine mood tonight or ye'd be slung from the scuppers an' used ter bait fish."

  Summer's cheeks flared pink with indignation, but another hard jab from Michael bade her hold her tongue. They followed Thorny down a stairwell and along a shadowy companionway that ran beneath the quarterdeck. At the end, he opened a narrow oak door, letting it swing wide against the wall. The cabin he hustled them into was large, furnished sparsely with a desk, a chart table, and enough wire-fronted shelves to house a small library. Gallery windows ran in a bow shape beam to beam across the stern of the ship. An oversized berth occupied one wall, hinged on the one side and suspended from ropes on the other that could raise it against the wall if need be.

  "Up ye get lass. Make use o' the berth whilst ye 'ave the chance. I'll fetch an 'ammock fer the boy so ee can swing alongside."

  The ship rolled suddenly and Summer reached for support on the edge of the berth, crying out sharply as her hand struck the wood.

  "'Ere, give us a look," Thorny grumbled as he inspected the burns on her palms. "I wager they hurt like a summbitch. Ow'd ye do it, lass?"

  "I don't remember exactly," she said, trying very hard to hold back the tears as he poked and prodded. "On a guide rope, I think."

  He grunted. "I'll fetch some salve ter take the burn away. Bad were it? On the Vixen?"

  She nodded, still fighting tears, and pushed the wet hair off her face.

  "Hmm. Back in a nip," he said, and stumped out of the cabin.

  Summer held her breath until she heard his footsteps fade down the corridor, then she whirled around and lightly pinched Michael's arm. "What are you playing at? Why did you tell them I was your governess?"

  "Because," Michael hissed urgently, "he's Captain Morgan Wade!"

  "And just who is Captain Morgan Wade? He cannot be too incredibly sinister if he says he has met Father on several occasions."

  "Most likely through the bars of the jail. He is an American privateer. One of the worst thieves and cutthroats in the Caribbean, according to Father. He is a smuggler and a gunrunner and...and...oh, Father has been trying to string him up for months now."

  "String him up? You mean hang him?"

  "He moves back and forth in the islands buying up legal cargo and making an absolute fortune selling it to the French, who he's not supposed to sell it to. Then he turns around and runs French guns up through the blockade into the colonies, right under the noses of our navy. Can you imagine what manner of leverage he would have if he knew he had the son and daughter of the Governor of Barbados on his ship? Can you imagine the ransom he would demand? Did you not see the evil way he smiled when he recognized me?"

  Summer frowned, not remembering his smile as evil, just very wide and very white against the darkly stubbled jaw.

  "He is dangerous and unprincipled and according to Father, he has killed men with his bare hands just for talking to him the wrong way! As for the Chimera—" he lowered his voice even further. "She's like a ghost ship, there one moment and vanished the next. People even say she's been seen in two places at the same time!"

  Summer sighed wearily. "It feels fairly solid to me."

  "Yes, well—"

  Michael bit back what he was about to say as they heard footsteps approaching the cabin again. It was Thorny, followed closely by Captain Morgan Wade.

  Summer caught her lower lip between her teeth. Seeing the captain's rugged features in the brighter light of the cabin, she wondered if Michael's tales were indeed more than the wild imaginings of an excitable twelve-year-old.

  Wade ignored them completely and w
ent to a sea chest tucked away in the corner. From it he took a dry cambric shirt and shrugged it over his head. Before the shirt could cover the broad expanse of his shoulders, Summer noted the countless scars, some large, some small, that criss crossed his back.

  "I sent a lad ter fetch an 'ot pot o' tea an' some biscuits fer the two o' ye," Thorny said, pulling Summer's gaze away from Morgan Wade. "Told 'im to put a dram o' rum in the pot as well. Won't do no 'arm. Give us a look-see at them 'ands now, lass. This salve will send yer arse up inter yer t'roat when it first goes on, but it'll 'eal up the flesh quick as a wink."

  Summer held the wool blanket around her shoulders with one hand while the other was treated to some oily brown paste. True to the old sailor's warning, it stung like the fires of hell when it first touched the raw wounds, but then the whole hand went blissfully numb, enough that she could flex her fingers without grinding her teeth from the pain.

  Thorny wrapped it carefully in strips of linen, then nodded for the other hand.

  "Stinks like an old whore's arse too, don't it?" He cackled and started to work on the other hand. The captain walked past, glancing briefly at Thorny's ministrations before taking a thin black cigar out of a box on his desk. Summer was mildly taken aback to see that he had changed from the wet breeches into a fresh dry pair, practically right in front of her. She blushed furiously, a condition that was not much improved with his next comment.

  "She'd best strip out of those wet clothes before she gets into my berth. When you're finished there, Thorny, fetch her a shirt from my chest. We don't need a mermaid with pneumonia on our hands."

  "I will not get pneumonia, Captain. And I can assure you Michael and I will do our best to see that we are no burden on your generosity."

  "Damn right you won't be a burden, Governess. Burdens tend to vanish as if they had never been here."

  He lit his foul-smelling cigar in the lantern flame, then strode out of the cabin, leaving a thin whorl of smoke in his wake.

  Thorny cackled again. "No trouble, eh? Ho! Ye should've been 'ere when all the 'ollerin' an' screamin' started. Sparked the cap'n's temper a mite, runnin' into ye unawares like that. Could've been another ship, ripe as n'owt. Whoever was on the watch'll probably be feelin' the lick o' the cat on 'is hide come daylight."

  "Lick of the cat?" Summer queried.

  "Cat o' nines, aye. 'Ere, ain't ye never 'eard 'ow a man learns 'is lessons on board a ship? Might say as 'ow the cat is our governess."

  "Whipping a man for being unable to see in the fog and darkness seems more than a little barbaric," she countered icily.

  Thorny curled his upper lip back while he debated his reply. "Mayhap so. An' mayhap ee'll be that much sharper next time 'round fer the lesson. Sharks in these 'ere waters 're mean devils. They take real kindly ter sudden meals. Give a man 'is d'ruthers, I warrant ee'd take a taste o' the cat over bein' fodder fer them big whites any time. Ye knows it yerself. 'Ow long were ye floatin' 'round afore we picked ye up?"

  "Most of the day and all night," Michael said in a whisper.

  "Aye, an' would ye care ter do it again soon?"

  "No, sir!" The boy's eyes grew round again as he remembered the 'slippery things' he had felt gliding past his legs.

  "Mr. Thorntree," Summer broke in, "Michael has been through quite enough today without you reminding him of what we have suffered. I do thank you for your assistance, however, and if we need anything else, we shall address you."

  Obediah Thorntree's eyebrows bristled up almost to his hairline. The creases parted, and for a full minute, the whites of his eyes were visible.

  "Address me?" He looked from one to the other and chuckled. "Aye. You do that, lass. Address me."

  He snickered to himself all the way to the cabin door, where he was halted by a further question.

  "Is there a lock on that door, sir?"

  "Eh?" He turned and looked at Summer.

  "A lock, Mr. Thorntree. Does the door have a lock?"

  Thorny scratched his head, screwing up his mouth to a thoughtful pucker. "W-a-ll now, I don't t'ink as 'ow the cap'n would take too kindly ter bein' locked out'n 'is own cabin. Mayhap ye should wait a day 'r two afore ye try that one on 'im."

  Summer was bone-weary and growing more so by the minute. The tempting breadth of the high berth beckoned her, and she did not see anything to be gained by arguing with the old sailor.

  "Very well," she sighed and waved her hand impatiently. "I shall discuss it with him in the morning. Good night, Mr. Thorntree."

  He gave one last bemused glance over his bony shoulders before pulling the door shut behind him.

  When he was gone, Michael released the pent-up breath he had been holding. "Summer! You ought not talk to them like that. You are supposed to be my governess, not the Lady Muck."

  Summer sighed and rubbed her throbbing temples. Her body had no more reserves of strength to call upon, and although she heard Michael's voice, and acknowledged the wisdom of what he was saying, she was too exhausted to do more than wave her hand again. She slid sideways onto the berth, curled into a tight ball, and was instantly asleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Summer Cambridge had never seen a shark, yet she dreamed of them. Sleek, writhing forms circled in the water, their razor-sharp teeth gleaming from gaping white jaws. She spent long hours tossing and turning on the berth, suffering through alternating waves of heat and chills that left her drenched in a clammy sweat. She was dimly aware of someone entering the cabin on several occasions, often to thrust a cool hand on her brow and adjust the tangle of blankets. She was vaguely conscious of background voices and bells and heavy footsteps on the decking overhead, and she could feel the rhythmic dip and sway of the ship thrumming across the surface of the ocean.

  "Summer?" It was a whisper, very close to her ear. "Summer, are you awake?"

  A crusted, bleary green eye opened and sought the source of the disturbance.

  "I am now," she said, shutting off the sight of Michael's disgustingly cheerful face.

  "Jolly well time too, I should think. You have been off in another world for two whole days now."

  "Two days?" The eye opened grudgingly again and slowly blinked into focus. With Michael's help, she sat upright, wincing as each movement brought an introduction to muscles she had never met before. Her legs and arms were knotted tight, her stomach ached hollowly, her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Her hands were burning so badly they felt as though she had dipped them in scalding water.

  Michael was grinning.

  "What do you find so amusing?"

  "You," he said. "You look positively dreadful."

  "Thank you very much Master Cambridge. I feel positively dreadful."

  "Not at all the way you looked on the wharf in New Providence. I thought, 'oh my gosh, she's come back a real snob. She'll walk around with her nose in the air and not share the time of day with any of us anymore.' That's what I thought."

  "Was it indeed." Summer regarded her brother narrowly. "You seem to have changed faces yourself overnight, little brother. What happened to the reserved young gentleman who was so proper and stuffy he made me want to pinch him?"

  "He's still there, but I rather think you need cheering up at the moment. After all, we have been kidnapped, and we have been forced to join the company of a crew of renegade privateers on a smuggling run."

  "You do not know for certain we have been kidnapped," she sighed. "And you do not know that the Chimera is smuggling anything."

  "Oh yes I do. I've had a peek in her cargo hold."

  "What?"

  "It's true. And she's loaded to the gunwales with rum and coffee, English wool and even tea! Those were only the crates I could see. We're in for a jolly good show if the Chimera crosses paths with one of our revenuers."

  "But tea and coffee...there is nothing illegal in that."

  "There is if you intend to sell it to the French, or run it through the blockade line into the colonies...or if the crates are stamped
with the imprint of the Reliant."

  "Michael, you are making my head ache."

  "The Reliant," he explained patiently, "is a supply ship that went missing about two months ago. It was transporting a large cargo of guns, among other things."

  "Guns? But you said tea and coffee."

  "Well they would hardly stamp the crates GUNS and announce it to every privateer within a thousand leagues."

  Summer dismissed his sarcasm with a scowl. "And what do you mean by missing?"

  "I mean missing. Attacked. Captured and taken as prize by the boldest American privateer sailing these waters. I mean...missing."

  "You think Captain Wade was involved?"

  "A hundred crates in the hold say he was. Is that not exciting? Can you believe we might have stumbled onto such an adventure?"

  Summer groaned and slumped back down on the bedding. "How can you possibly look upon this as an adventure? We are hundreds of miles from home and heading in the opposite direction. Goodness only knows when we will ever be put on the right track again. You heard that miserable little man say it could be a month, or it could be a year. As for the thought of crossing paths with a British ship—"

  She was cut short by an abrupt tapping on the cabin door. It came in advance of a large wooden tray balanced in the hands of Mr. Thorntree.

  "Ahh. Glad ter see ye up, lass. Feelin' better, are ye?"

  "Some," she admitted, craning her neck to see what was on the tray that was creating such a delicious aroma.

  "Steamin' 'ot biscuits an' a b'iled capon," Thorny announced. "I told Cook I wanted sum'mit special ter stick good 'n fast ter yer gizzards. Tea's in the crock 'ere, an' a ripe sweet duff with raisins tucked in. Real raisins, too. N'owt the roaches Cook sometimes tries to trick the men with."

  "That is very kind and thoughtful of him," she said dryly.

  "Bah. No bother. The lad 'ere told me about yer fits. Ye never ye mind n'owt. Ole T'orny'll see yer well done by."