Dawn on a Distant Shore

by Sara Donati

  He pressed his mouth against her neck just below her ear, his tongue flickering. Elizabeth drew in a hard breath and buried her fingers in his hair, held his head as his mouth moved down. He set his teeth in the curve of her shoulder and she cried out a little, in pain and something more.

  Suddenly he stilled and pressed his face to her skin. “Oh, Christ,” he whispered. “God help us.”

  Frightened now as she had not been before, Elizabeth clutched at his shoulders.

  “Nathaniel—”

  “They might as well put me in chains, for all the good I am to you.”

  There was a swelling in her throat, things she wanted to say and could not, should not. Instead she rocked him while his tears wet her nightdress, hot enough to scald skin and bone. Too tenderhearted, he had called her, and he was right.

  When the worst was over, he let out a terrible sigh. “I swear I’ll get us out of this.”

  “I know that, Nathaniel. I know that as well as I know how to breathe.”

  He nodded absently, rubbing his eyes. “There’s still no sign of the Jackdaw.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” she said. “I suppose Mr. Moncrieff must be very ill at ease.”

  Nathaniel grunted, sounding more himself. “He spends all his time in the round-house, watching the water. They’ve posted an armed guard on deck.”

  “Perhaps they are worried about thieves,” Elizabeth murmured. One more danger, she thought, but kept it to herself.

  Nathaniel pulled her closer. “Or the Campbells.”

  “Or the Campbells,” she echoed. “But I must admit that right at this moment the Campbells are as real to me as the Green Man.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way.” He tugged on her hair. “Tell me, Boots, don’t you ever get tired of being logical?”

  She laughed. “Now that you mention it, yes. Sometimes it is a relief to stop thinking.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Now there’s something I can help you with.”

  His tone had changed, not to anger or irritation or even worry, but in another direction, one that she knew very well. The air was chill and she had lost both her blanket and most of her nightdress, but she flushed with a new heat.

  His mouth was at her ear, and an old teasing rhythm: “It’s late, Boots. The logical thing would be to sleep.”

  “I suppose it would,” she agreed. “You must be very tired.”

  He smiled against her neck, his fingers tracing gently, rousing every nerve. “And if I was, it wouldn’t matter. The smell of you would wake a dead man.”

  Elizabeth put her hands in his hair and brought his face to her own to kiss him. She whispered against his mouth.

  I dreamt my lady came and found me dead …

  And breathed such life with kisses in my lips

  that I revived, and was an emperor.

  He laughed, and stripped the rest of her nightdress away so that they could curl together, legs entwined and arms and mouths, belly to belly. His body was a map she could read in the dark: the tiny hooked scar under his left eye; the cleft in his chin; the puckered bullet wound on his shoulder and another low on his right chest; a raised ridge carved into the hard plane of thigh muscle, leading her curious fingers up and up.

  He caught his breath and let it go again. Kisses soft and softer, until every pore was saturated and he came to her in a single heavy stroke: the deepest touch. His place inside of her, where no one else knew her; where she did not know herself.

  Nathaniel hovered over her, joined completely yet completely still. She touched his face, wound around him and murmured, a question half asked.

  He hushed her. “Wait,” and then hoarsely, “listen.”

  And then she heard what he meant her to hear: his blood and her own, surging like the sea itself in an endless circle between them.

  Margreit MacKay was uneasy in death, or perhaps she was just lonely; she came to Elizabeth again to pace the cabin. This time her arms were empty, and in her dream state Elizabeth began to search for the lost child in every corner.

  Mrs. MacKay took no notice of her loss; all her attention was on Elizabeth. “Be wary o’ the cold damp,” she sang in her clear, deep contralto. “Be wary o’ the mists. Be wary o’ the nicht air. Be wary o’ the roads, and the bridges and the burns. Be wary o’ men, and women, and bairns. Be wary o’ what ye can see.” Her voice grew faint and fainter. “And what ye canna.”

  22

  It was just after dawn and the rain had stopped when Elizabeth roused herself to see to the babies. Behind her, a clean summer light filtered into the cabin through the shutters: the last day they would spend on the Lass in Green.

  She looked like a fairy, or one of the selkies that Nathaniel’s mother had told stories about, with hair as deep and dark as sleep itself against the white skin of her shoulders. It floated in tangled curls to the small of her back, and he could barely contain the urge to put his hands in it, to wrap it around himself so that he could breathe in her smell. He wanted to sleep the day away like that with her head tucked under his chin. But in the next cabin Daniel babbled, and he would not be content for long.

  She lifted her arms over her head and took up her hair to plait it, her elbows pointed to the ceiling.

  “Let me,” he said.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were the color of a sky set on rain. “You could sleep.”

  “Could I? Come then, let me do that for you.”

  In the soft early light her expression managed to be both severe and sleepy, but she held herself steady while he worked.

  He finished and let the plait drop over her shoulder. “I kept you up too late.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said, her voice muffled as she pulled her nightdress over her head. Then she leaned over to kiss him, a quick stamp of her mouth with a wayward curl caught between them. “I did not need very much persuading. Or don’t you recall?”

  “Oh, I recall very well,” he said solemnly. He reached out to trace a finger along her collarbone where the skin was still mottled. She blushed, new color flooding her chest and throat, and grabbed his hand to still it. “You take delight in embarrassing me.”

  “That I do,” he said. And then, “Promise me you’ll still blush like that when you’re seventy.”

  She slipped out of bed before he could stop her. At the door she paused to smile at him over her shoulder.

  “If you’ll promise to give me reason, why then, sir, I’ll promise to oblige you.”

  Charlie brought their breakfast with the puffin tucked under his arm like a tame chicken.

  “Good morning from Mr. Brown to Hannah,” he reported dutifully. “And would she be so kind as tae look after Sally, who doesna take kindly to the rushing about on deck.”

  “Hannah has gone to take her leave from the Hakim,” Curiosity said, taking a platter of bread and meat from him to put it on the table. “But I suppose Sally can bide a while out on the gallery. Now, you got any news for us?”

  Charlie was full of news, and eager to share it: four excisemen had come on board, the first barges had already been loaded, and there was a report of the war with France and America—a huge sea battle and another victory for the Royal Navy’s Atlantic fleet.

  “America?” Nathaniel spoke more harshly than he meant to, and the boy jumped.

  “Surely not, Charlie.” Elizabeth looked up from the baby in her arms. “England is not at war with America.”

  Charlie bobbed his head so hard that his hair flopped into his eyes. “The Americans were trying to run the British blockade, missus, on account of the great hunger. A whole convoy of them loaded wi’ corn. But the English chased them off awa hame, and made short work o’ the French Navy what meant to protect them.”

  “Not war, then,” Elizabeth said.

  “Not yet,” said Curiosity. “But it don’t sound good. The sooner we get home, the better.”

  Nathaniel caught Elizabeth’s gaze and he shook his head slightly; he wasn’t ready to di
scuss the situation, and certainly not in front of the boy.

  But Charlie took no note, so wound up was he in the rest of his news: a Manx smuggler had gone aground just south of the Southerness lighthouse and could be seen there plainly, listing hard. “The crew is still trapped on board, and they’re armed. The excisemen have called out the dragoons from Dumfries,” he finished. “They’ll drag the whole lot off to gaol, wait and see.”

  Curiosity raised her head from her food and slanted a grim look in Nathaniel’s direction.

  The morning wore on and Nathaniel paced the cabin until even Elizabeth’s patience had been tried beyond endurance.

  “For heaven’s sake, go up on deck,” she said finally. “Take your son with you. Perhaps it will improve both your moods.” She thrust Daniel into his arms.

  The baby had been fussing all morning, but he stopped in mid-grizzle and gave his father a wide-mouthed grin.

  “You see?” she said.

  “It’s got nothing to do with a bad mood, Boots,” Nathaniel protested. “I’m just on edge, and so is he.”

  Hannah looked up from the basket she was filling. “He’s on edge because you are, Da. He takes his mood from you.”

  As if to prove his sister right, Daniel settled against Nathaniel’s shoulder with a satisfied grunt, pleased to have finally landed where he wanted to be. Nathaniel was in the habit of studying the baby, trying to find some trace of himself in his eyes or jaw or the rise of his forehead, just as he looked for Elizabeth in Lily’s face. Now he wondered if he had been concentrating on the wrong things.

  “He’ll settle down if you walk him,” said Curiosity.

  “In the fresh air,” added Elizabeth.

  He laughed. “There’s no arguing with the three of you.” What he didn’t say was, he was glad to have the excuse to go up on deck. There was a lot to think through, and he thought best while he was walking.

  Nathaniel opened the door to find two redcoats waiting on the other side, muskets crossed and at the ready. Solidly built men, professional soldiers who held their weapons with the same affectionate ease that he held his son.

  “Sir,” the larger one snapped. Beneath the brim of his hat his gaze was brittle, his mouth hard set. Swollen red fingers clenched tight on the barrel of the musket. The second man was a head shorter, but cut from the same mold—the kind who liked confrontation, and was always looking for an excuse to unsheath his bayonet. Daniel took his thumb out of his mouth to stare at them, not in fear but interest.

  “Who is it, Nathaniel?” Elizabeth came to the door with Lily in her arms.

  Nathaniel answered her without looking away from the soldiers. “Redcoats. Looks like Moncrieff don’t want us up on deck. Ain’t that right?”

  “Our orders are to see that no one leaves this cabin.”

  The smaller soldier had an egg-round head on a massive neck. Both men stood with legs stemmed against the roll of the ship, and Nathaniel knew that even armed he would have little chance of forcing his way through. Certainly there was nothing he could do with Daniel on his arm.

  He said, “I want to see Pickering.”

  The bigger redcoat thrust out his chin thoughtfully. “We’ll send word, sir.”

  “I want to see him now.”

  “No doubt you do, sir. But the gentlemen are occupied.”

  Nathaniel shut the door in their smirking faces.

  “I feared as much,” said Curiosity.

  Elizabeth said nothing, but her expression was drawn and tense. He touched her shoulder.

  “What are you going to do?” Hannah asked as she took Daniel from him. The baby began to fuss in protest, and she jiggled him on her hip.

  “I’m going to see Pickering.”

  Nathaniel opened the door out to the gallery and the sea air rolled in, cool even in June. He put his hands on the carved balustrade and leaned out, craning his head upward to measure the distance to the gallery overhead, the one off the cabins Giselle Somerville had occupied. Behind him, Elizabeth said, “You cannot be serious.”

  “There’s nothing to it, Boots. I was climbing bigger trees when I was Hannah’s age. And so were you, according to your aunt Merriweather.”

  She let out a harsh laugh. “Don’t try to mollify me, Nathaniel. Trees do not buck like a horse when you climb them.”

  But he had already found a good handhold in the carved work of the support beams, and he hoisted himself up.

  The sun struck sparks off the water, alive with the wind. To either side land rolled away from the shore, covered with grass of a green he had never seen before on any growing thing, bright enough to make a man squint. The wind got under his shirt and made it billow out like a sail and his hair whipped into his eyes. He wished he had taken the time to tie it back.

  “Nathaniel Bonner,” Elizabeth said, mustering every ounce of resolve and severity she had to her name. “You’ll land in the drink.”

  He studied her upturned face for a minute, measuring just how anxious she was. There was that line between her brows, the one that she used with unruly schoolboys. He said, “And if I do, Boots, they’ll haul me out and I’ll end up in front of Pickering, which is the whole idea.”

  He drew in a breath, braced himself with foot and hand against the choppy roll of the ship, and prepared to leap.

  “Have you took leave of your senses, Nathaniel?” Curiosity stood at the open door, her hands on her hips. Elizabeth might be exasperated and anxious, but Curiosity was plain mad.

  “You know I can’t let him get away with locking us up.”

  She marched up to him and yanked on his shirttail. “Of course you cain’t. But there’s more than one way to skin that old cat, now ain’t there? Your blood in such a boil that it has cooked your brain to pure mush. Come down from there and let me show you how to do it. Now where did that bird get to?”

  She peered into the narrow corner of the gallery, bending over at the waist and making a clucking sound. When she straightened again she had Mr. Brown’s puffin in her arms.

  “What are you doing?” Elizabeth called after her.

  But Curiosity only jerked her head impatiently and headed into the cabin.

  “What can she possibly mean to do with Sally?” Elizabeth asked him.

  “Hell if I know,” he said, and swung himself back onto the gallery.

  Curiosity waited for them at the door to the hall with the puzzled bird in both hands.

  Hannah looked from Curiosity to her father to Elizabeth. Daniel put back his head and let out a high-pitched wail, and Lily joined him in furious voice. Rankled by Curiosity’s tight hold and the crying babies, Sally opened her striped beak and began a great squawking.

  “Curiosity.” Nathaniel raised his voice. “Those dragoons are armed.”

  She threw him an offended look and flung open the door so that it crashed against the wall. At the same time she let out a keen-edged trill that made Nathaniel’s own skin rise all along his spine.

  Curiosity rushed the dragoons with the outraged bird thrust before her, flapping and screeching.

  Nathaniel’s legs moved of their own accord, past Elizabeth and Hannah and the howling babies. He barreled through the door behind Curiosity, flashing past two astonished faces. The bigger redcoat made a grab for him but Curiosity still had the bird by the feet and she swung it in his face like a battle-axe, her Kahnyen’kehàka war cry even louder in the narrow hall.

  Behind him there was a thump and a hoarse shout but Nathaniel pushed hard up the stairs and burst onto the deck, careening into a line of sailors humping kegs. The whole queue went crashing one into the next. A keg hit the deck hard on its rim, sprang its hoops, and a great gush of brandy spattered in a wide arc. From the corner of his eye Nathaniel saw two kegs roll into Adam MacKay. There was the audible snap of bone, a short scream, and then he flipped over the rail in a flash of flailing legs.

  “What’s this? What’s this?” The boatswain raised a cudgel but Nathaniel knocked him out of the way and ran str
aight for the round-house. Half the crew was behind him, and the other half leaned over the side, fishing for MacKay.

  Nathaniel kicked open the door and stood there, dripping onto the captain’s polished floor.

  Pickering and Moncrieff shot to their feet.

  “Really, Mr. Bonner!” Pickering sputtered. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I don’t take kindly to being locked up,” said Nathaniel, wiping his wet face on his sleeve and frowning at the smell. “As Moncrieff there knows all too well. That’s the meaning of this.”

  “It was for your own protection,” Moncrieff said wearily, rubbing a hand over his chin. “But now that ye’re here, the damage is done. Mr. Bonner, Mr. Burns of the excise office.”

  The man still seated at the captain’s table got up from behind the pile of papers, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed.

  “Mr…. Bonner?” He bowed from the shoulders, but his eyes never left Nathaniel’s face.

  “Nathaniel Bonner of New-York, aye. What of it?”

  The man blinked in surprise. “Your servant, sir.” And then to Pickering, his mouth turning up at one corner: “I take it that ye’ve got nineteen kegs o’ double distilled Indian arrack rather than the twenty noted here?”

  Pickering nodded impatiently.

  There was a shouting on the deck. The two dragoons he had left behind pushed their way through the crowd, jostling him farther into the cabin. The bigger one had a bloody nose and a long scratch on his cheek; the smaller man’s arm was bleeding. He had lost his hat but gained a number of bird feathers, one sticking out of his left eyebrow.

  It was the little one who lunged for him. Nathaniel sidestepped, slipping the knife strapped to his wrist into his palm, and jabbed the man neatly in the back of the hand. He howled and fell back, fumbling for his musket.

  “Enough!” Pickering’s voice cut hard and cold into the confusion.

  “Captain,” panted the bigger one, pointing a shaking finger at Nathaniel. “He set a lunatic Negress on us so as to slip awa’ while we were fightin’ her off! Sinclair here almost had the better o’ her when a redskin come up and stabbed him wi’ a candle.”