My Seaswept Heart (15 page)

“Well, it didn’t work very well.” He did move
away from her now, turning and walking toward the bank of windows.
Anne followed.

“You didn’t recognize me.”

“Once given a decent look I did.” Jamie
glanced over his shoulder.

“Decent look, indeed.” Anne tossed her head.
“I brought water for your bath, poured it over your head and you
still didn’t know who I was.” She knew she’d said more than she
should when he slowly turned to face her, a grin spread across his
face.

“Ah, that’s right. I’d forgotten the lad who
helped me with my bath.”

“I didn’t help you.” Anne crossed her arms,
wishing he didn’t make her feel so uncomfortable.

“Really?” His brows arched. “To my way of
thinking, we each got ourselves a good look.”

“You’re depraved.”

“Of course I am. Pirates are supposed to be
depraved. Or didn’t ye know that when ye made your decision to
become a lad and go on account?”

Anne didn’t feel that worthy of comment, so
she simply bundled her arms more tightly. A fact that made the
captain shake his head.

“I wanted ye to know we’re headed back toward
New Providence,” Jamie raised his hand when she opened her mouth to
protest. “Ye have no say in it. Till we arrive you’re to stay down
here.”

“Locked in your cabin?”

“If need be.” He walked to the door and
turned to face her. “I won’t have anyone else discovering Andy’s
secret.” After saying that he left. But she didn’t hear the lock
click so he must have decided it wasn’t necessary in order to keep
her below.

Anne imagined he was right. As much as she’d
like a breath of fresh air her deception would be easier this way.
With a shrug she returned to her task of straightening the
captain’s cabin.

She couldn’t understand how he could live
like this, so completely unorganized. How did he ever find
anything? Anne sorted through the books and charts first, piling
them neatly on his desk. The number of books surprised her, as well
as the diversity of subject matter. If he read them, and she wasn’t
at all sure he did, he wasn’t as ignorant of the world as she first
thought.

There were novels by Milton, Spencer, and
Dryden, as well as Payne’s
Observation On Gardening
. Several
books on history littered his bunk. One, Clarendon’s
History of
the Rebellion
, underneath. Some were bound in leather, others
were quite plain. But when she’d gathered them all, Anne realized
the pirate had himself a fairly extensive library.

“No doubt, every single book is stolen,” she
mused as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. It was
warm, too warm for a coat and wool cap, but she couldn’t be sure no
one would come to the captain’s cabin, so she kept them on. She
didn’t even wash the dirt from her face, though she was sorely
tempted. Anne’s eyes darted to the dented pewter pitcher and bowl
on the crudely made table. For all the pirate captain’s
slovenliness he did keep himself fairly clean.

Unable to resist any longer, Anne placed a
book on navigation on the pile and walked toward the cracked bit of
looking glass nailed to a timber. Standing on tiptoe she was just
able to see the top half of her face, dirt streaked, and barely
visible beneath the low pulled knit hat.

Her eyes clamped shut. She would simply have
to wait to get clean again. With a sigh she turned and surveyed the
cabin. Meanwhile, there was plenty for her to do.

~ ~ ~

He was avoiding his cabin.

Jamie leaned forward, his arms resting on the
cracked and splintered railing and watched the moon send slivers of
silvery light to dance across the ebony sea. Above him stars
twinkled. The night, soft and sweet as only the Caribbean could
offer was its own excuse to linger. And normally Jamie needed no
other.

But for some reason his short acquaintance
with Anne Cornwall, turbulent as it was, defied rationalizing. And
forced him to be more honest with himself. It wasn’t the beauty of
the night that kept him above deck, it was the woman in his
cabin.

“The men are not happy.”

Jamie jerked around toward the man who spoke,
a puzzled expression on his face. “A good evening to ye, too,
Deacon.”

“Make light of it if ye must, but the talk is
not good.”

Shrugging, Jamie turned back to contemplate
the sea. The breeze was freshening. He could feel it on his face,
hear it in the snap of the sails. “What has them vexed now? I
thought they might be more agreeable without their leader.”

“Is that why ye have Stymie chained in the
hold?”

His head tilted around. “Ye heard about that
did ye?”

“Every man on board the
Lost Cause
has
heard of it, Cap’n. Did ye think to keep such a thing a
secret?”

Jamie thought about it a moment. “Nay, but I
hoped his disappearance would give the crew a puzzle to fuss
over.”

“Ye should have tossed him to the
sharks.”

“Why, Deacon, ye surprise me. Such
bloodthirsty talk coming from a man of the cloth.” Jamie took a
deep breath. Humor was lost on Deacon. “Haven’t ye been after me to
do something about him? ’Tis all ye and Keena speak of.”

Deacon aimed his good eye at Jamie. “He shall
cause ye trouble, Jamie MacQuaid. Mark me words.”

The hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck stood
up and it had naught to do with the breeze. “Ye know I hate it when
ye prophesize like that.”

“’Tis fear that my words are true.”

“One time, Deacon. ’Tis only that one time in
Barbados that I recall ye foretelling the future.” Jamie turned to
face him. “That does not an Old Testament prophet make.”

“’Tis blasphemy ye speak.”

Letting his head fall back, Jamie took a deep
breath, letting the tangy sea air fill his lungs. “What would ye
have me do, Deacon? And don’t say throw him overboard.”

“What did ye have in mind to do with
him?”

“Bring him before the crew. ’Tis the usual
way we deal with crimes against a fellow seaman.”

“But Stymie isn’t the usual pirate and ye
knows it.”

“He’s a londmouthed bully and no more.”
Leaning forward he laced his fingers together to keep from making a
fist. “Except that he finds an odd fascination in pounding on those
weaker than himself.”

“How is Joe?”

“Better” Jamie glanced up, a grin twinkling
his eyes. “Asleep in Stymie’s hammock at present.”

“And the other boy?”

The grin faded. “Below in my cabin, learning
the proper way to speak to a captain.”

~ ~ ~

Anne sat on the edge of the bunk mentally
listing what needed done on the morrow. She’d managed to sort the
books, arranging them by subject, which at times, due to her lack
of formal education was difficult. There were several works written
in what she supposed was Latin that she had to guess about
placement. But anything was better than the random ‘toss where ye
may’ method the captain used to store his books.

The maps and charts were rolled neatly and
stacked beside his desk, which now proved her earlier assumption
that it did indeed have a top.

She’d accomplished quite a lot actually, and
the chore kept her from dwelling on the fact that Jamie MacQuaid
turned the sloop toward New Providence. Not that she hadn’t
extended considerable thought on how to get him to change his
mind.

But other than defying him and revealing her
identity to the crew, she could think of nothing. And the captain
had convinced her that was not a good idea.

Anne worried her bottom lip with her teeth.
Another thought kept infringing upon her mind as she organized
today. What made Stymie hurt Joe? She could only hope it had
nothing to do with what Joe told the captain. Anne rocked back,
grabbing her knees and pressing her chin forward. She needed to
speak with the captain. She needed to speak with Joe.

But neither of them had seen fit to come
below since the captain roared in earlier. No one had come. Which
meant there’d been no food either. Anne sighed, twisting around
till she could stretch out on the recently cleared bunk.

The captain didn’t plan to starve her to
death, did he? Anne fell asleep wondering.

~ ~ ~

And woke to a loud thump that made her jerk
to sitting. Her heart jumped into her throat when she realized
someone was in the room with her. Someone large, loud, and
angry.

“Damnit it to hell, woman! I told ye not to
mess with me things.” Jamie bent to rub the knee he’d banged.
“What?” he asked between clenched teeth, “is this?”

Waking up was never something Anne did
easily... or well. A slow, gradual greeting of the morn was the one
luxury she allowed herself. This arousal was sudden and abrasive...
and it was hardly morning. Swinging her legs over the side of the
bunk, she took a moment to steady herself. Her hat had come off
while she slept and she swept her fingers back through her tumbled
curls.

When she glanced up it was to see the
captain, limned in moonlight, straightening to face her. She looked
from him to the once neat stack of books, now tumbled
helter-skelter on the floor. With a sigh she pushed to her feet.
“Now see what you’ve done.”

“What
I’ve
done?” Jamie grabbed her
shoulder when she bent to pick up one of the books, pulling her to
stand beside him. “What
I’ve
done,” he repeated louder this
time. “Seems to me, lass, ’tis you who’ve been doing more than ye
should.”

Her tone was exceedingly patient... to Anne’s
way of thinking. “I simply straightened your things.”

“Ah.” Jamie bent his face toward hers. “Then
ye admit they are
my
things we’re discussing here.”

“Of course I do.” She’d done him a favor,
though that wasn’t her motive by any means. “I couldn’t live in
such squalor.”

“Squalor?” They were nearly nose to nose now.
“Me cabin was the way I liked it.”

“It was a disorderly mess.”

“Mess or not, it be my mess, and the way I
like it.”

His eyes were so close that even in the near
darkness she could see the prisms of blue and green that made them
so intriguing. So mesmerizing. She forced herself to focus on the
whole of him. “Little wonder.”

“Aye, little won...” He paused. “Now what in
the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Anne shrugged delicately. His hair, gilded
silver by what moonlight filtered through the salt-encrusted
transom windows waved wildly to his shoulders. She didn’t have to
look down to know his shirt flapped open. The warmth from his chest
was proof enough.

Anne swallowed. “You have a pier glass,
though it be barely more than a sliver. Surely you’ve looked in
it.” She knew he had. She’d watched him shave off the beard that
had now returned as stubble shadowing his jaw shade’s darker than
the sun-bleached mass on his head.

“If you’re questioning my cleanliness I’d say
it be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” With one finger
he traced the curve of her cheek. A mistake he realized as soon as
he felt the silky skin. He was almost thankful when she knocked his
hand away.

“You know very well why I’m covered with
dirt. And I hate it.” Anne bit her bottom lip, wishing she hadn’t
said the last. It was too close to a crack in her defenses. She
even thought she noticed an expression of sympathy glitter in his
sea-colored eyes before he turned away.

“Well, that is your doing as I recall. All of
this has been your doing. And ye are the one stuck with it until we
reach New Providence.”

His words gave her pause. They reminded her
that her well-laid plan was failing and she hadn’t been able to
devise a new one. She took a deep breath. “I apologize.”

“Of course ye do, but—”Jamie cut himself off,
his eyes narrowing as he searched her delicate, blackened face.

She’d surprised him. Anne didn’t wait for
another word from him before pressing her advantage. “It was wrong
of me to put your cabin in order. I realize now that you are a man
who enjoys a certain amount of...” She searched her mind for a word
to describe the muddle he lived in. A word that she could accept
and that he wouldn’t find insulting. She finally settled on,
“Disarray. I imagine you find it comforting.” She smiled up at him,
hoping she’d assuaged his male pride.

Comforting, hell! He found it easier than
cleaning. But he nodded anyway, wondering why the sudden urge to be
accommodating struck her. He had a pretty good guess, of course,
and it didn’t take her long to confirm it.

“Well, at any rate, I shall mess it up for
you again... I mean put it back to your comforting disarray in the
morning.” Anne felt her jaw tighten and she tried to relax.

“I thank ye for that.”

“Of course, I don’t wish to be any bother.”
Though she couldn’t see his face well enough to discern his
expression, Anne was sure his brow quirked. “Which is why I think
you should forget this worry you have about returning me to New
Providence right away.”

“’Tis no worry.” Jamie moved away from her
and settled on the bunk. He couldn’t help noticing the blanket and
sheets were tucked in. And there was a pillow. He couldn’t remember
the last time he’d slept on a bit of down softness. He wondered
where she found it. But not as much as he wondered why she felt it
necessary to help him off with his boots.

Anne knelt on the deck, her back to the
captain and tugged. “I really wish you’d reconsider and just find
d’Porteau. Having me along will make no difference.” She clamped
her teeth together when his other boot pressed into her backside
and yanked. On the third try the boot flew free... and only Anne’s
elbows saved her from sprawling face first on the floor.

“All right, are ye?” came the mocking inquiry
from the bunk and Anne could well imagine the wicked grin crinkling
his eyes.

She pushed herself up and reached for the
other boot. “I’m fine.” This one came off easier, and she managed
to stay upright on her knees. She stood, brushing at her breeches,
a useless gesture given the state of their cleanliness. Turning to
face him, she planted hands on her hips. “Well, what do you
think?”