by Linda Ladd
Her spirits gradually revived, and she began to enjoy herself more. Rosalie seemed well pleased with her acting, and she learned much about makeup and costumes and props, more than she had thought possible in so short a time. She spent a lot of time with Odette, but actually, more and more of her time seemed to be in the company of Billy Brock. She had begun to help him with his lines for the part of Romeo. He reminded her of her friend Freddie, and she found him to be very sweet, though not very talkative. They made much progress with his accent, and it was not nearly so pronounced now as it had been on the day of Alysson's audition.
On the second Sunday out, they held a dress rehearsal, though the day was dark and forbidding and the waves choppy enough to send Odette below, holding her belly and cursing the sea in vituperative French. The rolling ship bothered Alysson not at all where she sat in the forecastle dressing room, removing her makeup. Billy entered behind her, dressed in the sumptuous velvet robes of Lord Capulet, one of the three roles he was playing. She half turned, smiling as he pulled off the heavy purple cape.
"You were very good today, Billy. I hardly had to prompt you at all."
"I surely do thank ye for helpin’ me,” Billy said shyly with lowered eyes. “'Tis easier when I do it with you. You know all the lines, even better than Rosalie or Edgar."
Alysson laughed. “I grew up in the country, and I had nothing else to do but read. Shakespeare was my favorite."
"Sometimes I forget that you are you and think that you really are Juliet,” Billy said quietly, shrugging out of his tunic. Alysson hardly heard him; her eyes were focused in horror on his bare back. Scars covered it, crisscrossing each other in cruel white lines that covered nearly every inch of exposed flesh. She gasped aloud, and Billy whipped around, quickly slipping his shirt over his head. He seemed embarrassed that she had seen them, and they looked at each other without speaking.
"I'm sorry, I usually keep them covered."
"How did you get them?” Alysson breathed, still horrified.
Billy looked around uneasily, his fingers fidgeting with his sleeve, and Alysson spoke quickly.
"That's all right. You don't have to tell me.” She paused, her eyes dark with empathy. “I'm just sorry you suffered like that.” Her voice turned bitter. “I know what it's like to be under the hand of someone cruel, someone you hate, with no way to escape."
Billy sat down across from her, the compassion on her face bringing up a raw surge of emotion inside his chest. He swallowed hard and licked dry lips.
"You ‘ave suffered the whip too, ‘aven't ye?” he whispered. “I can see it sometimes in your eyes."
Alysson looked down, remembering the bad times. “Yes, but not like you, not anything like you."
Billy stared at his lap. It had been over a year since he had been aboard the brig Intrepid, but the memories of those years at sea would never, never leave him. He had never told anybody all of it, not even Rosalie when she had found him in the streets of Paris and had taken pity on him. But Alysson was different. She seemed to understand, to really know how he felt. He was half surprised at his next words.
"I jumped ship. I'm a deserter."
Alysson laid her hand over his. “It looks like you had good reason."
She smiled at him, and to Billy's mortification, he felt tears burning in his eyes. He wiped them away, and Alysson's heart twisted.
"You're free now, Billy, and so am I. In America, we can both start all over, and now we have each other and Odette and the others, too."
Buried emotions struggled inside Billy, and he put anguished eyes on Alysson.
"The worst o’ it was knowin’ that I never did nothin’ to deserve the floggings. ‘Twas the sailing master who ‘ated me and for no good reason, either. ‘E just made up stories ‘bout me and told the captin'. Said I stole things and said things, and I didn't, I didn't do none o’ it.” He stopped, surprised to find his heart pounding, his palms wet with sweat. His eyes found Alysson's again. “It was like ‘e ... like ‘e liked to see me suffer. And ‘e did other things too, things so awful that..."
His voice trailed away, and Alysson's brow creased with remembered pain. “My father was like that, Billy. He used to hurt my mother for no reason at all."
"Was he the one who beat you?” Billy asked, looking almost fearful.
Alysson nodded. “Sometimes he did, but it was Mama he liked to hurt."
"I was a foundling and they put me in a home, but I ran away when I was nine and joined the navy. I never knew no father or mother."
"My mother was an angel,” Alysson said after a moment. “She's dead now, but I know she's in heaven."
Billy nodded, and they sat in silent companionship for a time, each struggling with inner demons, until Milton stuck his head around the flap.
"Captain MacBride's ordering all the passengers below. A storm's brewing, and there's to be no supper this night. He's asking all the passengers to go down and tie themselves in. Come on, Billy, you can help me spread the word."
After Billy left, Alysson packed away the loose jars and costumes and made sure they were lashed securely before she made her way outside to the deck. The day was heavily overcast, the winds strong and gusty, and she watched for a moment as the seamen prepared for the coming storm, bringing in the sails, battening down the hatches and any loose barrels or crates on the decks.
As the weather gradually grew worse, heavy rope lines were strung about the deck for handholds during the worst of the storm. Alysson stood in an out-of-the-way spot, pulling the hood of her cloak over her hair as the first raindrops began to fall. The sky was ominously dark now, and she braced her hands firmly on the rail to combat the increasing pitch of the ship. She was the only passenger still abovedecks, and she looked out over the raging waters as a jagged bolt of lightning streaked the sky. Like Shakespeare's Tempest, she thought, then looked at the figure of Halcyone, thinking she did little now to calm the sea for Captain MacBride.
It began to rain harder, and still Alysson lingered, reluctant to return to her stateroom. Donovan MacBride would be there, and the thought of being alone with him was not something to which she looked forward. In truth, she preferred the elements of nature around her, despite their violence at the moment. She would rather stay here forever than go down to join him. A harsh bellow from the quarterdeck changed her mind.
"Miss Tyler! What the hell are you doing up here? One of you men down there get her below before she ends up washed over the bloody side!"
It was certainly the angriest she had ever seen Brace MacBride, or heard him speak to anyone, and she went docilely along with the sailor who took her arm and led her to the door under the quarterdeck. Once inside, she stumbled against one side and had to hold on to the wall rail as the ship dipped from beneath her feet. Then sighing in defeat, she headed for her cabin. She would go directly to bed, she decided, so she wouldn't have to endure him.
Donovan looked up from his paperwork as Alysson entered and made her way across the tilting cabin toward her bunk. She did not deign to give him a glance, but even that annoyed him, and he frowned after her. His eyes moved over her pink-flushed face and damp golden hair as she pulled down her hood. He resolutely returned his attention to his work. He cursed under his breath, when a moment later he read the same line for the third time, finding himself listening to the sounds Alysson was making behind her screen. He could almost see her stepping out of her skirts, could visualize with graphic detail the sight of her white silk stockings being rolled over her calf. Even more vivid came the mental picture of her in his arms in bed, soft and willing, pressing herself against him, her silky hair entwining around them. Damn her!
He forced himself to concentrate again on the document he held as the storm gradually worsened, rolling the Halcyone to and fro like a gigantic rocking chair. He felt the slow rise as the Ship reached the first gigantic wave, then plunged abruptly into its deep trough. His chair was bolted to the floor, and he held to its arms, familiar enough with incle
ment weather at sea to have buckled himself tightly to the chair before the waves became too violent. Alysson was not so well prepared, having had no such prior experience, and she had to grab for dear life to the rail affixed to the wall of her bunk. Her privacy screen was not secured and went over with a crash to slide halfway down the cabin.
From across the room, Donovan watched without comment as she managed to straighten her nightgown while the ship righted itself again. She barely got the drapes closed when the ship again plummeted to bow, and Donovan shook his head in irritation as the screen went crashing back to the other side of the stateroom. When the ship reached an even keel, he unbuckled his restraining strap and retrieved it, thrusting it into a closet.
He sat down behind his desk again and strapped himself in, then took a silver flask from the breast pocket of his coat where it was draped over the back of his chair. He untied his cravat and released the top buttons of his shirt. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long and uncomfortable night. He drank deeply from the whisky, welcoming the slow burn in his throat, then screwed the cap back in place and put the flask inside his opened shirt for safekeeping.
Once again, he turned his attention to his papers. Despite all the work he had brought along for Lionel Roam to handle, he knew there would be twice as much awaiting him at his office in Manhattan. He did not relish the thought of that, though he was looking forward to being home again. He had missed his sister, Olivia, and her daughter, Katie, and he didn't like leaving them alone for so long especially with Jeremy detailed at Fort Niagara. It had been even longer since he had seen his other brother, over a year now, and he made a mental note to send a letter to Jeremy as soon as they set anchor in New York. But even before that, he would push the bloody annulment through the courts and dispose of his unwanted liaison with Alysson Tyler.
Thunder cracked like cannonfire outside, and he could hear the howl of the wind and rain beating at the ports. The ship creaked and wallowed through the hostile seas, and he wondered how Brace fared on deck. All the candles in the stateroom had been doused for fear of fire except for two hanging lanterns, one near his desk and the other at mid-room, and they swung crazily from their ceiling chains, casting grotesque moving shadows up and down the walls. Brace had predicted a bad one, and Donovan had learned long ago to trust his brother's judgment when it came to the sea.
The ship suddenly lurched downward again, with more violence than before, and Donovan jerked his eyes from his reading at hearing a muffled squeal. He looked up just in time to see Alysson tumble headfirst through the curtains of her bed, rolling head over heels toward him in a great flurry of bare arms and legs and white silk. She landed in a tangled heap against the settee nearest to him. She did not move for a moment, and Donovan sat forward in alarm.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, no, I am quite fine” came her rather breathless reply, and Donovan had to smile as she scrambled up and held on to the settee as the ship righted itself. He watched as she tugged and pulled herself along the wall rail to her bunk again, without once asking for his assistance.
"If you'll tie yourself to the rail behind your bunk, that won't happen,” he advised indifferently, but he received no answer as Alysson heaved herself unceremoniously into her bed.
Donovan stared at the closed curtains, scowling darkly as he resumed his task. He soon was engrossed with it, unconsciously bracing his foot against the desk each time the ship rolled in the battering storm. Ten minutes passed in this way, until a particularly violent plunge to bow again sent Alysson flying out of her bunk, despite her every effort to stop herself.
"Oh, for God's sake,” Donovan muttered impatiently, unbuckling his strap again and heaving himself to his feet. He had to hang on for the space of an instant, and Alysson clung to a secured table leg with both hands as the room stayed completely upended for what seemed an extraordinarily long time.
Donovan reached her as the ship began to even out, and before Alysson could protest, he had swung her over one broad shoulder as if she were a ragdoll. She found herself in the ignominious position of hanging upside down, his strong muscles working beneath her cheek as he pulled his way up toward her bunk. He lowered her to it, not as gently as he could have, frowning blackly as he took the leather thong from its hook near the foot of her bed.
"Since you don't have enough sense to tie yourself in, then I guess I'll have to do it for you!"
He reached for her, holding to the wall rail with one hand as the ship careened to starboard, but Alysson desperately evaded his grasp.
"Please! Please don't tie me! I can't bear to be tied up!"
Donovan froze, the strap dangling from his hand, his eyes riveted on green ones, huge with terror. He almost fell as the floor dropped out from under him, but he caught himself, then somehow caught Alysson around the waist before she was thrown to the floor again.
He hesitated for a second longer, still holding her back against his side, then pushed her down on the bunk and sat down beside her, swinging one leg over her lap to brace his foot on the opposite wall. It effectively held her in place and braced himself at the same time, and Alysson gasped, gripping his trousered leg as the ship pitched again. She could feel the hard muscles of his thigh tighten beneath her touch, but she held on anyway, grateful that he had not tied her as he had first threatened.
His black eyes were on her, the look in them highly unsettling, and she looked everywhere but at him. Why had she blurted that out? Now he knew one of her secret fears, and she hated herself for telling him. But even the thought of being tied brought back terror that turned her insides to ice. She watched as he reached inside his shirt and brought out a small silver flask. He pushed his booted foot against the wall as the ship plummeted downward, and Alysson gasped, gripping his leg again. She was amazed at how unaffected he remained during such a raging storm.
Donovan dropped his eyes to where her fingers clutched desperately at his leg. This time, and maybe for the first time in her life, she was not lying. The fear he had seen in her eyes had been real. Someone had tied her up, and it had probably been her father. He looked at her pale face and heaving chest, realizing she was still very much afraid. Of the rope? The storm? Or him?
"Would you like a drink?” he asked, holding the flask out to her, and Alysson looked at him in surprise, then eyed the flask suspiciously.
"What is it?"
"Don't worry, it's only whisky, not poison,” he answered dryly. “It'll bolster your courage a bit, if nothing else."
Alysson hesitated. “Is it really whisky?"
Donovan's face did not change. “I don't usually carry milk around with me."
Alysson stared at him blankly, then realized in amazement that he had meant it as a joke. She was more shocked by that than his offer of the whisky. She took the flask from him, and Donovan raised a brow expectantly as she tilted it back and took a tentative taste. Her eyes came up to his in surprise as the potent brew burned all the way down her gullet to the pit of her stomach. She handed it back to him, eyes watering.
"It's very good,” she to1d him, her hand holding her throat.
Donovan gave a low laugh. “I take it you haven't had any before."
He took another drink then offered it to her again. He was surprised when she took it readily and drank, deeply this time. She coughed as she gave the flask back.
The first drink had warmed her insides, and under the circumstances, Alysson decided, she needed all the bolstering she could get. It felt good to have something in her stomach, even if it was fire. She had seen her father drink whisky until he fell into a drunken stupor, and perhaps that would be the best way to ride out a storm at sea with Donovan MacBride's muscular leg pinning her to the bed. Donovan took it from her, surprised by the very pleasant smile she was bestowing on him, one that carved dimples in both soft cheeks.
"Have you had anything to eat today, English?” he asked suddenly, and Alysson shook her head.
"Not since breakfast. There wasn't
any supper, you know, but your whisky is making me feel an awful lot better. I mean, really good."
"Yes, I should think so,” Donovan returned with a shadow of a smile, taking a gulp before giving the flask to her again. If she was of a mind to get a trifle drunk, he was not about to stop her. Perhaps with liquor clouding her brain, she might be compelled to tell him the truth for a change. The ship rolled, and Alysson held the flask tightly in her hands for the duration of the towering wave, while Donovan's eyes stayed glued to the front of her nightgown. The ribbons between her breasts must have come loose when she had fallen, and he could not take his eyes from the glimpse of softly curving white flesh revealed to him. Sweet-smelling flesh that he had caressed with both his hands and his mouth, flesh as smooth as the finest satin.
A low giggle brought his attention reluctantly to her small, beautiful face. Her slanted eyes glinted like emeralds in the dusky light. She lifted a long silky lock as she watched him, twisting it idly around one slender forefinger, and Donovan felt the most overwhelming urge to do the same thing. Unable to resist the temptation, he reached out and picked up a soft silken strand, watching in fascination as it curled around his fingers.
"I do believe you have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen,” he said quietly. “The color of the sun."
Alysson smiled with pleasure, raising her incredible eyes to him, her smile open and so exquisitely lovely that Donovan felt a curious sensation curl inside his chest. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was dangerous, and he pulled his eyes from her face.
"I think I will try a bit more of your whisky, if you don't mind overly much,” she said with another winsome smile.
"And I think, come morning, you'll be the one who will mind,” Donovan murmured, well aware she was already tipsy.
Alysson drank and kept the flask with her as she observed the man watching her so intently, He was acting most agreeably for a change. Silence reigned for a while, the howling of the wind eerie in the darkened cabin.