Lord Of The Sea (20 page)

“He’ll cool off,” Maeve said, offhandedly.

But her husband had his pride, and even though privately Rhiannon was inclined to agree with Brendan—that Connor was indeed being rude to their host—there was something to be said for the fact that Sir Graham, perhaps a little too accustomed to the position of authority he enjoyed, was patronizing her husband at best and treating him like a child at worst. It really
was
no business of Sir Graham’s, what Connor did, or where he went.

Could she really blame her husband for his reaction?

She caught up to him at the bottom of the stairs. “Connor, wait.”

He stopped, his back stiff with anger and his straw hat, still in his hand, crunched in his fist. “So now you know the truth about my family,” he said, turning around. “We fight. A lot. I’m sorry you had to find that out so soon into our newly wedded bliss.”

“Sir Graham was wrong to say what he did.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re on my side, after all. But I’m still leaving.”

“And
you
were wrong to bait him.”

He began to stalk toward the door.

“Connor, I’m your wife. You can’t just walk out on me.”

He paused again, and she saw his shoulders rise on a long, steadying breath before he turned around. She expected to see anger in his eyes, hardness in the set of his jaw, and she wasn’t disappointed. He walked back to her, standing there with as much stubborn purpose as he himself was showing.

“I knew you were going to give me trouble,” he said, but the heat had left his voice and the words were said with a certain fondness.

“And I knew you wouldn’t be able to sit still for one moment.”

“You’re right. I can’t. There’s a convoy to catch.”

“Don’t go.”

“I must.”

“Then let me get my trunk.”

“No.” He caught her hand. “You’ll stay here, Rhiannon.”

“Where are you going?”

He set his jaw and began to turn away. “Now you sound like my brother-in-law.”

“Connor, I know I angered you back there and I’m sorry for that, but—”

“You don’t understand. I am going to work, Rhiannon, like all good husbands must do in order to support their families. And my work requires chasing, capturing, and burning British shipping as a private individual in service to and under the written permission of my country. That is my work. And where I conduct my work, on the gun deck of a well-armed warship, is no place for a gently-bred young woman.”

“Your mother used to go aboard
Kestrel
when she was your father’s ship!”

“My mother was a crack gunner, a fearless sailor, and as much a man as anyone in my father’s crew. She could shoot and swear with the best of them.” He reached out and tenderly smoothed a lock of hair from Rhiannon’s forehead, the anger going out of him as swiftly as it had appeared. “But you, Rhiannon . . . you don’t know how to shoot a cannon, you can’t go aloft, there is no place for you on a warship. You’d be a distraction at best and in danger of being hurt at worst. No, you are far safer, here.”

“You would just go off and leave me? Dump me here on your family like so much refuse?”

He turned and began to walk away. “It is for your own good.”

“Connor!”

“And, mine.”

He opened the door, walked out into the dazzling sunshine, and was gone.

Chapter 19

Mira found her sobbing in her room an hour later.

“Rhiannon! What the blazes are you wailin’ about?” she asked half jokingly, but the very fact that she came into the room and sat down on the bed beside her daughter-in-law showed the depth of her compassion.

“Connor . . . he’s angry with me. I was so embarrassed by the exchange at the table that I didn’t know what to say or do, and both he and Sir Graham have been sniping at each other for the past three weeks. I only wanted them to stop.”

“Sir Graham’s short-tempered because he’s worried about Maeve and the coming baby, Maeve’s short-tempered because she doesn’t feel well and is worried about Connor, and Connor’s worried about proving to himself and to the rest of us that he’s his father’s equal. It’s one hell of a mess, ain’t it?”

“Proving that he’s father’s equal? But why? He has nothing to prove, he’s wonderful just the way he is!”

Mira let out a heavy sigh. “Connor was raised on tales of Brendan’s heroism and derring-do during the last war,” she said. “When other children wanted to hear fairy tales at bedtime, Connor wanted to hear about his
Dadaí
’s exploits as
Kestrel
’s captain. If you hear enough stories about a person, I suppose that eventually that person becomes larger than life. People like Connor’s father cast a tall shadow and are a tough act to follow.”

“So Connor idolizes his father?”

“Aye, always has, and I suppose I should never have told him all those stories because now he’ll do anything to prove that he’s his Da’s equal and Maeve’s afraid he’s gonna die trying.”

“But why tell him such stories if they weren’t true?”

“Who ever said they weren’t?” Mira said, grinning. “They were true enough. Every single one of ‘em. And I was there to vouch for that fact!”

Rhiannon just drew her feet up to her chest and wrapped a blanket around them, resting her chin on her knees and staring morosely out the window.

“Ye know,” Mira said, crossing her arms over her chest, “if I were in your shoes I wouldn’t just sit here and let him go.”

“He already told me he doesn’t want me aboard
Kestrel
.”

“That’s bullsh— I mean, that’s ridiculous. Brendan didn’t want me aboard her either, but that didn’t stop me from going.” Mira’s eyes began to sparkle with mischief. “Come on. Let’s go find Toby before the tide turns and that stubborn son of mine takes
Kestrel
to sea with it.”

“Toby?”

“Aye. If he had one set of clothes that fit you, he’ll have another. When that ship sails, you’ll be on her.”

“Connor will forbid it.”

“Connor ain’t gonna know.”

*     *     *

Tarnal hell, Connor thought. The wind was out of the west, the tide was going in, and
Kestrel
wouldn’t be going anywhere until one, the other, or both changed.

Jacques met him as he stalked moodily toward the hatch. “Where’s
madam
?”

“On land. Where she belongs.”

Jacques couldn’t prevent a smirk. “Trouble in paradise already, eh,
Capitaine
?”

Connor bit back his reply and strode past Nathan, who was standing nearby coiling a line.

His cousin raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“We’re weighing as soon as the wind changes,” Connor snapped by way of explanation. “I’m fed up with Sir Graham’s dictates. Does he think I’m one of his bloody captains? I’m an American for God’s sake. He may be my brother-in-law, but we’re on different sides of this war and I don’t answer to him or anyone else in his Majesty’s Royal bloody Navy!”

Nathan and Jacques exchanged glances.

“Can’t sail without a full crew,” Nathan said, spitting over the side.

“Aye, Captain,” added Boggs, standing nearby. “Half the company’s still ashore in Bridgetown.”

“Then you can take one of the boats and go fetch everyone back,” Connor snapped irritably. “There’s a convoy leaving St. Vincent as we speak and as soon as that tide turns we’re weighing anchor and going after it.”

He stalked off toward the aft hatch.

“What about
Madame
?” Jacques asked. “Shouldn’t we bring her back, too?”

“There’s no place on a warship for a woman. I have trouble enough with distractions, I don’t need another one.”

“But
Capitaine
, you only just tied the knot—”

Connor turned around, his volatile temper close to blowing.

“Women need to feel treasured,” Jacques said, making an expansive gesture with his hands. “How is
Madame
going to know how much you love her if you sail off and leave her?”

“Aye, Jacques has a point,” Nathan grunted.

“You need to woo her, say the things that make her feel beautiful inside,” Jacques continued, ignoring his captain’s hardening gaze. “I know women, and I know what they like. Have you told
Madame
how lovely her lips are? How beautiful her mouth?”

Connor, his fists clenched, began to stalk back toward Jacques when suddenly Bobbs's voice cut through the buzzing sound in his head.

“Sir! Boat approaching from starboard. It’s your mother.”

Connor paused and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was a boat heading toward them and in it were his mother, Toby, and several of
Kestrel
’s missing sailors.

“Well, how provident,” he muttered, pasting a smile on his face for the benefit of his mother. “That’s five, six, seven crewmembers you won’t have to chase up when you head into town.”

“Your mother’s coming with us?” Jacques asked, stupidly.

“Hmph,” Connor said. “I wish.”

“You just said a warship’s no place for a woman,
Capitaine
.”

“Go to hell and rot, Jacques.”

Moments later Mira Merrick, a basket in hand, was scrambling agilely up over the rail with Toby right behind her. In the boat were several other seamen who were already beginning to follow them up and aboard.

“Connor, dearest, I couldn’t let you go sailing off without proper sustenance,” his mother said, sliding her arm around his waist and steering him forward. “There was a second tray of molasses cookies that I’d forgotten to put into the oven. I brought them for you.”

Inwardly, Connor groaned, wondering how many fishes would be poisoned when the cookies were pitched over the side—as they inevitably would be. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. It was Rhiannon’s idea.”

“Sweet revenge,” he muttered.

“What was that?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as she continued to walk forward with him.

“Nothing, Mother. Nothing a’ t’all.”

“I know I ain’t much of a cook, but you’re my darling son and the idea of you goin’ off to fight the Brits without something good and solid in your stomach just fills my heart with dread.”

“You are very kind, Mother. Perhaps you’d like to join us? I aim to go after that convoy, and Sir Graham can be damned.”

“You know I can’t, Connor.”

“You’re the best gunner
Kestrel
ever had.”

“Your father wouldn’t like it.”

“Da is going soft.”

“No he’s not, he just wants to keep the peace.” They had walked as far forward as they could get and there, Mira leaned out over the bow to peer down at the little hawk that was
Kestrel
’s figurehead. “Oh, good. I wanted to make sure it was just as I remembered it,” she said.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, you know. Time takes its toll on things. . . .”

Mother was behaving oddly, Connor thought. Very oddly. He turned and looked aft but there was nothing amiss, and the last of the sailors who had come with her was already climbing aboard.

“Well here you go, darling,” Mira said, straightening up and handing him the basket. “You behave yourself and try not to make your brother-in-law too mad. And mind that you’re not gone too long. I don’t think Maeve’s time is far off and you really oughtta be there for the baby’s birth.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Not to mention workin’ on giving me another grandchild.”

He actually blushed. “
Yes
, Mother.”

She grinned, the endearing little wrinkles fanning out from either side of her tilted-up nose, and stretching on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek.

Moments later she was gone, rowing the boat back to shore all by herself, the afternoon sunlight sparkling like amber diamonds in the craft’s wake.

Chapter 20

“Follow me and be quick about it,” Toby whispered, seizing Rhiannon’s wrist and hustling her toward the hatch while his Aunt Mira kept Connor busy up in
Kestrel
’s bow. “We don’t have much time.”

“Take her to your cabin,” One-Eye said quickly, moving to stand in front of Rhiannon in case his captain happened to turn around. “He won’t think to look there.”

“No, take her to Nathan’s, it’s got a better bunk,” Jacques said.

“Christ,” Nathan swore, and headed aft.

Well, so much for loyalty to their fearless leader, Rhiannon thought as Toby, Jacques and One-Eye, followed by several others, one of whom had her trunk, all of whom had breath that stank of rum, hustled her quickly down the hatch and forward. Above, she heard footsteps as Connor and his devious little mother, God bless her scheming heart, walked aft and Mira prepared to leave. “Stay outta sight until you’re well out to sea,” Mira had advised. “Once you’ve got Barbados well behind you, there’s no more need to hide yourself. And don’t. I want more grandchildren, and I ain’t gonna get ‘em if you’re hidin’ somewhere my son won’t find you.”

It was a good thing Rhiannon hadn’t been eating something at that remark because surely she would have choked.

Now, led through the gloom by Toby and surrounded by grinning, laughing tars who seemed to think it quite funny to put something over on their captain, she was hustled into Nathan’s cabin, offered a mug of rum, and then left to her own devices.

It was a tiny cabin with little place to stand, and only a bunk built into the curve of the hull. Sighing, Rhiannon sat down on it, put her feet on her trunk, and contemplated what she was going to say to Connor when she revealed herself.

Oh, he was going to be angry.

Too angry, probably, to continue work on making this grandchild that his mother so desperately wanted.

Beneath her the schooner rocked gently, and the small tin lantern that swung from the overhead beam cast a dim light over Nathan’s cabin.

There was nothing to do but wait.

Wait for the hours to pass and the wind to change.

Wait for the sounds of the ship getting underway.

Wait for Toby to come and collect her.

Yawning, Rhiannon swung her feet up onto the bunk, put her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes. Moments later, she was fast asleep.

*     *     *

“Anchor’s hove short, sir.”

A crew stood at
Kestrel’
s windlass, bare-backed and sweating even though the sun was well on its way down.

“Get the jib and mainsail up,” Connor said. “I want to be out of here before any of our Royal Navy friends know what we’re about.”

“Expecting trouble?” Nathan asked, heading toward the helm.

“I don’t know what to expect, which is why I’d like to be ready for anything.”

Moments later came the thunder of canvas as the trade winds caught the rising jib and
Kestrel
began to strain eagerly at her anchor.

“What’s that convoy carrying?” Boggs asked. “Better be worth leaving that wench I found in Bridgetown.”

“Damned if I know, but the pickings ought to be good,” Connor said, watching as the great mainsail began to rise, the mast hoops crawling skyward up the mast with it. He was the picture of relaxed command, but inside his heart was churning as he remembered Rhiannon’s face back there in Sir Graham’s hall, her look of betrayal and abandonment.

Something twisted in his gut.

You should go back and get her,
his conscience said.
Only married one day and you’re already deserting her.

“Oh, stow it,” he snapped.

“What?”

“Nothing, Bobbs, just talking to myself. Where’s that chart of the harbor?”

“Here, sir.” It was One-Eye, handing him the map of Carlisle Bay and the surrounding coast.

Connor glanced at it, made sense of about half of it, and having gone through the motions, returned it to One-Eye. “Give it to Nathan, he’s got the helm,” he said, and went to supervise the anchor’s retrieval.

Some captain you make,
his conscience continued.
But you have them all fooled, don’t you? They all think you can walk on water, just because you’re lucky. How confident do you think they’d be in you if they knew you can’t even read that damned chart?

“Haul! Haul! Haul!” came the cry, and the mainsail finally reached its full height and was sheeted home.

“Get the hook in,” Connor ordered.

“Aye, sir.”

The men at the windlass put their backs into it and moments later, the anchor came surging up from the bottom, swinging from the cathead and dripping a torrent of water back into the sea. The schooner began to drift, and her motion changed subtly beneath Connor’s feet. The harbor was a deep mauve and purple shot through with orange from the sunset, and already, the riding lights of Sir Graham’s flagship and several warships in the harbor were starting to glitter across the water.

Near the tiller Nathan had the chart open and was already plotting a course.

“Wind’s backed to the northwest, Con,” he said. “We ought to have a straight shot out of the bay and down around the southern coast of the island, and then it’ll be clear sailing all the way into the shipping lanes.”

“Happy hunting,” Connor said, grinning.

“Happy hunting, indeed,” Nathan agreed, and as the sun finally settled beneath the haze far off to the west, and the last of the color leached from the sky and the surface of the sea, the Yankee privateer showed her heels to Carlisle Bay, Bridgetown, and Barbados itself.

*     *     *

“Rhiannon! Open up. It’s me, Toby.”

It was some time before Rhiannon, curled up on Nathan’s bunk and deeply asleep, realized that the knocking sound wasn’t part of a dream, but reality.

She opened her eyes and saw the lantern swinging in the gloom.

“Rhiannon!” The knocking on the cabin door grew more persistent. “Are you all right in there?”

She got up, knuckled her eyes, and opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, blushing so hard that his freckles disappeared into the sudden profusion of color in his cheeks. “I didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“What time is it?”

“Near dawn. Barbados is twenty miles astern of us. Too late to turn back.”

“Good.”

“Are you ready to face the music?”

Rhiannon eyed the cabin. She wished there was a chamber pot, but that was something she’d probably have to find elsewhere. Heaven knew she couldn’t do what the men did when it came to relieving herself.

Toby saw her predicament and his blush became downright crimson. “Do you, um . . . need an, um . . . “

“That would be nice,” she said, blushing herself, and moments later he reappeared with what she needed. She disappeared back in the tiny cabin and wondered how on earth Mira Merrick had managed on a ship full of men, and determined to ask her when she next saw her.

She finished her ablutions, picked up the round hat that Mira had found for her and, cinching the rope belt around her waist a little tighter in order to hold up Toby’s trousers, followed the youth topside.

Far beyond the long, plunging jib-boom, dawn was breaking and glowing gold against thin bands of cloud that sat poised on the horizon. Above,
Kestrel
’s pennants snapped crisply in the wind, and her great foresail and mainsail glowed with the colors of dawn. The sea hissed along her side as she met each long ocean swell with her starboard shoulder and Rhiannon, standing barefoot on a deck that felt damp and sticky with salt, inhaled deeply of the fresh sea air as the water around her turned a deep, vibrant azure.

From somewhere forward, the smells of cooking were already coming from the galley.

“Is he up yet?” she whispered, looking aft toward the tiller.

“Not yet, but that doesn’t mean he’s sleeping. If Connor gets four hours of rest a night, it’s a rarity.”

Rhiannon’s eyes sparkled with sudden mischief. “He’s going to be furious to find me aboard.”

“Probably.”

“Good morning, ma’m,” said Nathan, with a short bow. “You’ll have the devil to pay for this stunt.”

“So I’m told.”

“Here, have some breakfast,” One-Eye said, thrusting a bowl of gray oatmeal into her hands.

Rhiannon looked up. The sunrise was strengthening against the pennant that flew from
Kestrel
’s foremast and was now glowing against the topgallant yard . . . that lofty sail, itself.

“What a beautiful sight,” she said, spooning the gluey mixture into her mouth.

“The sunrise is even prettier up there,” Nathan said, tipping back his tawny head to gaze aloft. “I’ll take you up if you want to watch it.”

Rhiannon felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and her palms were suddenly cold and sweaty. Her appetite gone, she handed the bowl back to One-Eye. “Thank you, Nathan, but I’m terrified of heights.”

“Captain’s coming,” Bobbs announced, looking aft.

Rhiannon drew herself up and swallowed hard. Sure enough, her husband was coming up from below, the early sunlight glinting against his mahogany curls. He cut a dashing figure. He had foregone the straw hat and was dressed in the double-breasted blue pea coat that Rhiannon had first seen him in, a black kerchief knotted carelessly around his neck and his trousers, cut from a rough fabric that looked like sailcloth, hacked off just below the knee. As usual, he was barefoot.

“Top of the morning to you, lads,” he said, glancing at the compass and then aloft.

“Same to you, Captain.”

“Anything show up yet on the horizon?”

“Just a few clouds, sir.”

Kestrel
’s captain took a spyglass from the rack, lifted it to his eye, and trained it on the eastern horizon. He was unaware that his wife stood a few feet away, admiring how handsome his shoulders were in the snug-fitting coat and wondering how long it would take for him to notice her. Around her, the men were snickering, elbowing each other, and whispering loudly.

“What is so funny?” Connor asked, without turning around.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Aye, nothing a’ t’all!”

Connor snapped the glass shut, replaced it in the rack, and swung to face them all. His sharp green gaze moved from Nathan standing stoically at the tiller, to One-Eye, to Bobbs, to Jacques, to Toby . . .

And to Rhiannon.

 “What the
hell
?”

“Hello, Connor,” she said, in a voice that was meant to be cheerful and confident but came out sounding like a squeak from a choking mouse.

“
Rhiannon?!
”

“Yes?”

Frowning, he came up to her, yanked off her round hat, and stood staring as her bright red-gold hair spilled down around her shoulders and tumbled down her back.

“How the devil did you get aboard?!”

“The same way as everyone else, I imagine. I took a boat, then came up the side.”

“You know very well what I mean! Who is responsible for this?”

“I am.”

“
Who brought you aboard?!
”

Rhiannon stood her ground. Beside her, Toby’s brown eyes had widened behind his spectacles and he was starting to look nervous. At the tiller, Nathan peered up at the great mainsail and whistling, made a small adjustment to the schooner’s course, and the crew began to look worried.

“A woman’s place is with her husband,” Rhiannon said, refusing to back down to Connor’s glowering stare.

“
Your
place is safe in Bridgetown with my sister and my family!”

“No, it is with you.”

Jacques raised his hand to the side of his mouth and as an aside to Bobbs, said, “
Madame
has spirit.”

“Stow it!” Connor roared.

“Connor, I—”

“You didn’t just row a boat out to
Kestrel
and come aboard all by yourself, Rhiannon. Who sneaked you aboard?”

She just smiled.

“
Who?!
”

“Your mother.”

“My moth—” He paused in mid-sentence, unsurprised by this revelation but rendered temporarily speechless all the same.

“I know women,” Jacques said importantly. “Once they get to plotting, we men just don’t have a chance.”

“I said stow it!”

“Aye, Captain. But if you ask me, the best way to a woman’s heart is—”

Connor rounded on the Frenchman and at that moment, a cry drifted down from above.

“Sail ho, fine off the larboard bow!”

Connor threw one last, frustrated look at Rhiannon that promised full retribution later, stalked to the rack and grabbing a glass, went to the rail.

And just like that, Rhiannon found herself forgotten as the lookout shouted, “On deck! Another sail, far to the north’ard . . . and another!”

Rhiannon was forgotten, all right.

They had found the convoy.