Surrender the Heart (24 page)

“Nevertheless,” he barked, his gray eyes firing. “I do not tolerate slothfulness on my ship.”

Slothfulness? Of all the …

“And what is that gash on your head?” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink.

Shocked by his sudden interest, Marianne dabbed the tender scar. “A crate fell on me aboard the merchant ship. Knocked me unconscious, which is how I came to be—”

“You should have my surgeon look at it.” He interrupted with a wave of what could only be construed as disinterest in her tale.

Marianne shuddered. She had seen the man he called the ship’s surgeon. “I would prefer that he didn’t.”

“Preposterous.” He frowned. “You will—”

A knock on the door interrupted them, but before the captain could respond, it opened to reveal the object of their discussion. The pale man with a perpetual gleam of sweat on his brow angled his head around the door, reminding Marianne of a snake spiraling from its hole. “Time for your medicine, Captain.”

With barely a glance her way, he slithered past her. In fact, since she’d come aboard, not once had the physician acknowledged her presence during his frequent visits to the captain’s cabin.

“Good, good,” Captain Milford mumbled. “You are dismissed, Miss Denton.”

Marianne turned to leave but not before she saw the surgeon pour something from a flask into the captain’s drink. A sharp odor, one she was quite familiar with from her mother’s medications, bit her nose.
Laudanum
.

Tucking the information away, she slipped down the companionway, determined to use these precious moments of freedom to go above deck. She’d been stuck below for a week attending the captain’s every whim, and she desperately needed to feel the sun on her face. And maybe catch a glimpse of Noah. To see how he fared, and Luke and Mr. Weller as well.

Squinting against the bright sun, she emerged onto the main deck to a gust of chilled wind and the stares of myriad eyes.

“Back to work!” The
crack
of a stiff rope sliced the air, drawing her gaze to one of the petty officers who raised his weapon to strike one of the sailors again. Swallowing her repulsion, she scanned the ship, searching for Noah and his crew, but none of their faces appeared
from among the throngs of seaman. Fear crowded her throat. Were they imprisoned below? Above her, at the rail of the foredeck, a line of marines stood at attention, their red and white uniforms crisp and bright, their golden buttons gleaming in the sun.

Threading her way through the bustling crew, Marianne made her way to a spot at the port side railing just beneath the foredeck where no sailor worked. Turning her back to the sea, she swept another gaze across the deck and was rewarded when Luke’s coal black hair came into view. It shimmered in the hot sun like a dark sea under a full moon as he— along with a row of men—tugged upon a massive rope.

“Heave!” a sailor shouted.

Moist with sweat, Luke’s face reddened. His features twisted with strain as he yanked on the stiff line.

Lieutenant Garrick dropped down from the quarterdeck and headed toward the row of men. “Mr. Kane, what have I told you about being too soft on the crew?” he shouted. “Why, my mother could pull a line harder and faster than these wastrels. This one in particular.” He pointed straight at Luke.

Luke, his hands still gripping the line, slowly raised a spite-filled gaze to Lieutenant Garrick. Marianne’s breath halted.
Don’t say anything, Mr. Heaton. Please don’t say anything
. For she had heard how cruel the British could be.

“See the way he looks at me?” Lieutenant Garrick gave an incredulous snort. “An officer in His Majesty’s Navy. Strike him, Mr. Kane. Strike him every time he dares look you in the eye.” An insidious smile crept over Garrick’s lips like an infectious disease.

Luke faced forward again. The muscles in his jaws bulged, but much to Marianne’s relief, he said nothing.

Mr. Kane shook his head. “Aye, aye, sir.” And proceeded to lash Mr. Heaton across the back with his braided rope. Luke did not flinch, did not move. Not even a wince crossed his stern features.

With a satisfied grin, Lieutenant Garrick sauntered away, head held high.

Marianne swung about and clung to the railing. Better to face the
sea than watch that horrible man strut about like a despotic peacock. The sun cast a blanket of azure jewels over the water. Marianne’s palms slid over the railing. Her knees wobbled as her fear hit her full force. How could something so beautiful be so deadly?

Her head grew light as a bell rang twice from the forecastle, announcing the passing of time on the watch. One o’clock from what she had learned.

“Aloft there, trim the foretopsail!” a sailor shouted.

Shielding her eyes, Marianne glanced upward. Men lined the yards of the foremast at least eighty feet above her. And right in the middle of them stood Noah, his bare feet balanced precariously over a thin rope. His stained blue jacket and brown trousers flapped in the wind as he clung to the yard in front of him. A large man standing next to him leaned over and said something. Noah’s gaze shot to Marianne. Her heart flipped in her chest. Though she could not make out his expression, she sensed no anger emanating from him. In fact, just the opposite. An unexpected bond kept their eyes locked onto one another like an invisible rope, a rope Marianne did not want to sever for the odd comfort it brought her. Odd, indeed. Coming from a man who had more reason to dislike her than ever before, and she, him, for his unwillingness to bring her home and marry her.

The ship plunged over a swell, but despite her fear, she kept her gaze upon him. The smells of salt and fish and wood filled the air and twirled beneath her nose. The dash of the sea against the hull accompanied by creaks of tackle and wood chimed in her ears. Yet, she could not tear her gaze from him. He looked well, unharmed. And she wanted more than anything to talk to him.

“Ease away tack and bowline!” a man shouted from below. And the lock between them broke as Noah swerved his attention to his task, inching over the footrope. Inching slowly over the footrope. Very slowly. While almost hugging the yard. Was he frightened?
Lord, please protect him up there
.

“Quite dangerous in the tops, you know.” A familiar voice etched down her spine, and Marianne lowered her gaze to the superior smirk
upon Lieutenant Garrick’s face.

“Noah is a capable seaman.” She replied, taking a step away from him. He followed her as if they danced a cotillion at a soiree.

“You do say?” He glanced up again, his black cocked hat angling toward the sails. “He doesn’t seem too steady on his feet, if you ask me.”

“I don’t believe I did ask you, Lieutenant.” She gave him a sweet smile, instantly regretting her unrestrained tongue.

He dropped his gaze, sharp with malice, and eyed her from head to toe.

Marianne shuddered.

“Heave to!” One of the master’s mates bellowed. The sharp crack of a rope sounded, and Marianne looked up to see the man whom Garrick had spoken to earlier following out the lieutenant’s orders across Luke’s back. Mr. Heaton’s muscles seemed to vibrate beneath the strike. She cringed.

“Life can be quite difficult aboard a British frigate, Miss Denton,” Lieutenant Garrick said, his eyes narrowing into slits.

A gust of hot wind blasted over Marianne. The loose strands of her hair flung wildly about her. She brushed them from her face and stared out to sea, hoping her silence would prompt the annoying cur to leave.

“Especially for a woman.”

Perspiration dotted her neck.

He lifted a finger to touch a lock of her hair.

Raising her jaw, she stepped out of his reach. “What would you know of being a woman, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, I know much about what women need.” The salacious look in his eyes made her skin crawl. “Sleeping on a lumpy mattress, no proper toilette, clean gowns, or decent food.” He clucked his tongue. “Not befitting such a lady.”

“Pray don’t trouble yourself over it, Lieutenant. I shall survive.”
And much more happily if you scurry away to the hole from which you came
.

He leaned toward her, his offensive breath infecting her skin. “Yet you can do so much more than that, miss.”

Bile rose in her throat. “And how would I do that?”

He lifted one shoulder and scratched the thick whiskers that angled over his jaw down to his pointy chin. “Kindness, Miss Denton. Kindness to a lonely man like myself.”

His words drifted unashamed through her mind, shocking her sense of morality. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Unaccustomed to such vile advances, or any advances at all for that matter, she nearly lifted her hand to slap him, but thought better of it. Instead, she directed her stern eyes upon his. “My Christian kindness I offer to everyone, Lieutenant Garrick. Any further affections will never be yours.”
There went her mouth again
.

His gaze snapped to the sea, his jaw twitching in irritation. “I perceive you are unaware to whom you speak, Miss Denton. Perhaps I should enlighten you.” He gave her a caustic grin. “My family possesses more land and wealth than you could ever hope to see in your rustic, underdeveloped colonies.” He gazed at her expectantly as if waiting for her to swoon with delight.

Marianne fought down her rising nausea. “How lovely for you, sir. But, I fear you waste your time boasting of your fortune to me. Unlike the sophisticated
haut ton
in London, I place more value on honor and dignity than title and money.”

“Savage Yankees,” he spat, his face reddening. “If we were not on this ship, the strictures of polite society would not allow me to even speak with you, let alone offer you my attentions.”

“Then I shall pray we reach port soon so you will be forced to forsake such a silly notion.”

“Lieutenant Garrick!” Captain Milford’s booming voice stiffened Garrick immediately. “Report aft!”

Garrick frowned. His eyes narrowed and beads of sweat marched down his pointy nose. “We shall see, Miss Denton. A few weeks on board a British frigate might persuade you otherwise. But, mark my words, I am not a patient man.” He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger until pain shot into her face. Then releasing her with a thrust that sent her face snapping to the side, he marched away.

Another blast of wind tore over her. A sail above cracked in a deafening boom that seemed to seal her fate.

Marianne threw a hand to her throat, trying to check the mad rush of blood.
Lecherous swine
. She stilled her rapid breathing and gripped the railing.

Oh Lord, a mad captain, a ship full of enemies, a lecherous lieutenant … And no one to protect me
.

Noah slid his aching bones onto a bench and leaned on the mess table. Dangling from two ropes attached to the deckhead, the oak slab swayed beneath his elbows. But he didn’t care. Anything was better than swaying to the hard, fast wind up in the yards. Though he had tried to hide it, his legs still wobbled like pudding long after descending the ratlines and jumping to the main deck where he had resisted the urge to bow down and kiss the firm planks beneath his feet.

Luke eased beside him while Mr. Weller took the opposite bench. From amongst a crowd of howling, jabbering men, Blackthorn emerged and slapped a platter filled with salted pork, mashed peas, hard tack, and a bowl of steaming slop into the center of the table before he took a seat beside Luke. Noah sniffed, hoping a whiff of the food would prod an appetite that seemed to have blown away with the wind, but all he smelled was the foul body odor of hundreds of men.

Dinner was the best part of the day, according to the crew, most of whom swarmed the large space below deck that also served as their berth. Now, with hammocks removed and tables lowered from the bulkheads, hundreds of sailors crammed into the room, gathered with their messmates, and stuffed food into their mouths while they shared their day’s adventures, told jokes, and relayed embellished tales of the sea.

Noah wanted no part of it. Nor did he ever want to go aloft again. A week in the tops and his fear had not subsided one bit. He glanced at his first mate and gathered, from the strained look on his face, that he fared no better.