Beloved Castaway (12 page)

The man nodded in agreement. “What would you have me do with the lady, sir?”

Harrigan glanced back at the docks as if gauging the distance to shore. “Fetch her aft and secure the siren t’ the longboat,” he finally said, disgust lacing his words. “I’ve little time t’ worry myself with demons in skirts.”

“Aye, sir.”
 

The big fellow led Isabelle around the edge of the quarterdeck to aft where the longboat hung suspended from the rail. Racing to keep up with his long steps, she tripped on a loose board and landed in a puddle beneath the small vessel. Thankfully, the rain had stopped and only her vanity had been injured in the fall.

“I’m sorry about this, miss,” he said gently as he settled her into a more dignified position and made quick work of tying the thick twine into an intricate knot, “but I warrant you’ll be safer here than amongst that lot.”

“I vow we shall all be safer, young Banks.”

Isabelle jerked her attention toward the source of the statement. There stood Captain Josiah Carter in all his soggy glory.

---

Despite his soaked condition, Josiah thought Isabelle actually looked pleased to see him. He couldn’t miss how her lower lip quivered before she spoke. How her eyes seemed to be filled with concern.

Or did he only imagine this?

“But, Captain Carter, I thought surely you must be. . .” She shook her head, seemingly unable to speak further.

“Dead?” he offered.
 

With a chuckle, Josiah reached for the length of rope securing her wrist to the longboat and began unwinding the knot. Throughout the process, he avoided looking into her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I fear not, although for a brief moment, I thought it possible.” He looked to the right and then to the left before addressing Isabelle again. “At least this is not my vision of heaven, though it does come close to my image of the other fellow’s province.”

“’Tis a poor jest you made, Captain.” The ropes fell away, and she began to rub her wrist. “And yet, better than I thought you capable of.”

The woman’s attempt at humor caught him off guard. So did the sudden fatigue that washed over him.

“What’s this?” he finally managed to say as he leaned against the rail. “Do you not find me entertaining?”

“Truly, I can say until now I did not.” Isabelle seemed to study him for a moment while absentmindedly rubbing her wrist. “You’re injured,” she stated.

Josiah followed her gaze to the bloodstains on his shirt. “Merely a minor inconvenience,” he said as he lifted his chin to show her the source of the bleeding. “Chin hit the mast; nothing more.”
 

He’d not tell her that the true damage might come days later when fetid water from the cesspool known as the New Orleans docks decided whether or not to fester inside the wound.
 

She moved toward him. Soft fingers brushed his forehead as she pushed back the wet tangles of his hair. “This must be attended to. I warrant you’ve other injuries, as well, given the height from which you fell.”

“So you witnessed my descent?”

“Mostly,” she said, “although I saw only that you disappeared into the water. How came you to be back on the ship again?”

How indeed? If he could explain the phenomenon of how he rose to the surface of the water, he might attempt to tell her. At present, however, he could not.

The vessel swayed, or perhaps he did. In either case, he found himself nearly upended before landing hard against the rainwater barrel.
 

“Complete the journey to the deck and remove your shirt so I can attend to you, Captain.”

The sea siren fell to her knees, then yanked him down beside her and reached for the hem of her skirt. Honey-colored curls, damp from the rain, had escaped the confines of her scarf and lay plastered against the back of her neck. Another curl rested against the curve of her cheek. With care, he reached to touch it and missed when she ducked out of the way.

“Captain, you must remove your shirt forthwith else I will be forced to take action.”

When he failed to comply with her order, Isabelle began to see to the removal of his shirt herself. Somehow in the middle of all that swirled around them, this woman expected—no demanded—her way with him.

Josiah sighed.
 

His head swam with the possibilities, none of which were within his ability to consider at the moment. Then there was the odd realization that the man who fell into the river was not the same as the man who now sat under the ministrations of the prettiest woman in New Orleans.

The old Josiah Carter would have declared a pox on propriety and done as he wished. This one, well, he couldn’t quite place the why of it, but he knew there was a better way to be.

To live.

Odd, yet unquestioningly, he did know this.

Unable to put this new knowledge into words just yet, he aimed for a jest. “As appealing as I find you, dear, I’m afraid I must discharge my duties as captain before I can consider a—”

She slapped at the hand that came too near to hers. “Do not flatter yourself, sir. I seek only to make you fit once more to discharge those duties.”
 

Isabelle yanked a strip of fabric from her torn petticoat and fashioned a bandage. Using rainwater from the barrel, she doused the cloth and began to dab at his wounds. The same foolishness that should have kept his mouth shut before did so now.

“Much as I am sure most ladies would seek a dalliance with one such as you, I am not of a mind to do so.” Their gazes met as she gently touched the damp cloth to his chin. “Ever.”

This time he managed to capture her fingers. “Do not say ‘ever,’ Mademoiselle Gayarre. Even you must admit that the Bible says to worry only about today.”

Pausing, she met his gaze. “Indeed, it does, Captain Carter.” She sat back on her heels and tossed the bloody bandage aside. “The Lord says tomorrow will have trouble enough of its own.”

“
 
’Tis I who’ve found trouble,” he admitted. “I cannot fathom tomorrow will bring more than this.”

“Trouble, sir?” She leaned close, too close, and placed the cloth at his forehead. The sensation of cool water against his skin took away his breath.

So did Isabelle Gayarre.

Whether roughened by the smoke or the closeness to this woman, Josiah found that his voice now refused to cooperate. A good thing, indeed, for he’d probably said too much already.

She wadded his shirt and handed it back to him, then reached to dampen another strip of fabric in the rainwater barrel. As she settled back beside him to attend to a rather minor scratch on his forearm, Josiah looked past her to the flames.

Flames.

Fire.

The spell broken, Josiah clambered to his feet, then steadied him-self against the wall of the wheelhouse. Another moment standing alone and he’d be fit for duty.

Or rather, another moment with Isabelle Gayarre and he’d be unfit for anything but enslavement by her.
 

Somehow he wrestled himself back into his shirt, though he knew he must look a fearful sight in the blood-covered garment. Rather than attempt to close the front of the garment, he let it hang loose, willing Isabelle to keep her distance rather than offer help.

“It’s too soon to stand,” she said. “You’ve injuries that may be more dire than those I’ve managed to bind up.”

“No doubt this is true.” He tested his sea legs and found them worthy. “Yet my ship will not pilot itself, nor my men fare well without their leader.”

Isabelle nodded. “Fair enough, yet I fail to see how you cannot be more concerned with your own health. The distance from which you fell was. . .well, a lesser man might have. . .”

A greenhorn, brother to the young fellow who’d been caught in the rigging, sidled up to them, his face plastered in shades of bright scarlet. He stood fidgeting, dancing from side to side as he worried with the brass buttons of his too-large jacket.
 

“Yes,” Josiah finally said, “have you a message for me?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Mr. Captain, sir, but Mr. Harrigan has need of you upon the quarterdeck.”

“Tell him I’ll be about forthwith.” He watched the boy scamper off in the direction of the quarterdeck, then returned his attention to the lady. “You were saying?”

His question seemed to take her off guard, but she soon recovered. “Forgive me for only now mentioning this, but you were left up there with no hope of. . .” A shaking hand pointed to the riggings, indicating the spot from whence he had taken his dive. “
 
’Tis a height from which
most men would have perished had they plunged in the same way you
did.”

“And yet now I am here.”

The statement, stark in its simplicity, stood as a reminder of the sum total of his ability to explain what happened in the moments after the young boy fell to safety. A voice spoke then, soft words that worked their magic, cleansing him and filling him with something akin to peace.
 

He remembered seeing the devil himself, formed strangely into the person of his father, or perhaps he merely heard him. In either case, his next memory was that of being plucked out of the river, drenched but breathing.

True enough, the fire he fell through had touched not a hair on his head. It was as if somehow he had been pulled from the fire and saved by divine intervention. Those were the words spoken to chase away the demon. Something about fire. If only he could recall.

Rubbish.

The whole thing was pure rubbish. Or was it?

“Mr. Captain, sir?” The young boy again.
 

He turned and waved him away with a threatening gesture, then returned his attention to the lady. “Have you further questions, Miss Gayarre?”

She smoothed her skirts “Perhaps this is not the time to inquire, but I must wonder what you intend to do with me.”
 

More than one answer occurred to him; he decided to stick to the safest of the lot. “Once we’re on our way, I’ll have your things brought down, and you may join your companions in their cabin.”

“Mr. Captain, sir?”

This time, the boy stood a good distance away, too far to be frightened by him. Harrigan caught Josiah’s eye, and a smile dawned on the old man’s face.

“But if I could just have a word with you, Mr. Carter,” she said, “I’m sure I can explain how the money—”

“Not now.” Josiah turned and walked away; he’d already left his post unattended at the sight of the sea siren, and it irked him to be reminded of the fact. It also irked him to be reminded that while it appeared he’d left the docks of New Orleans relatively unscathed, there would soon be at least one man, the owner of the ship, giving chase.

Two if his father was informed William had sailed with the vessel.

Josiah tried to curse and found himself strangely unable to do so. He stalked across the quarterdeck and brushed past Harrigan to take the wheel.

His second in command gave Josiah more than a moment’s observation, studying him like a bug under a lamp. “Say it not, Mr. Harrigan,” he stated, “and there will then be no cause for your release from duty.”

“
 
’Twill be a fine day when you release me from duty, Mr. Captain, sir,” he whispered.

Josiah ignored the comment to look into the heavens. The rain had ceased, and a sliver of the moon shone above the clouds. With luck, their voyage would be much less eventful than their stay in port.
 

“How fare the masts and sails?”

“Sturdy and fine as a warm wife on a cold night,” Mr. Harrigan reported.
 

Was that a chuckle he heard from the seasoned mariner? When Josiah turned to look, his second in command gave him his back, seeming to search the river’s edge for something of importance. Yet Josiah found it impossible to ignore the shake of the old man’s shoulders.

“And the rigging, Mr. Harrigan?” he asked in an attempt to steer the conversation into a more professional realm.

“Trussed up tight and looking quite well.” He gave Josiah a sideways glance. “Considering what she’s, ahem, I mean, what
they’ve
been subjected to.”

Irritation rose. He ignored it.
 

Isabelle Gayarre wandered into his line of sight. He ignored her, too; at least he made the attempt. Behind him, Harrigan began to laugh in earnest.

“Do you wish to include me in your jest?”
 

“Jest?” Harrigan shrugged and feigned an innocence Josiah knew he hadn’t possessed in four decades, possibly five. The old man studied him openly. “She made quite the impression on you, lad.”

A thousand rebukes boiled and churned inside, none of them worthy of the anger just beneath the surface. “
She
, Mr. Harrigan?” he asked, lacing each syllable with venom as he spoke them. “And to
whom
might you be referring?”

Again Harrigan pretended virtue. “To
whom
?” he echoed.
 

“Are you now deaf as well as daft, old man?”

The sailor laughed heartily, clutching his sides until tears ran down his wrinkled face and he looked to be in pain. Just as Josiah had determined to run him through with the point of his blade at the earliest opportunity, Harrigan took a robust breath and allowed a moment of silence. He cast a glance at Isabelle, leaning innocently against the rail, then caught Josiah looking in the same direction. Their gazes met.

“Did you suppose I meant the
girl
when I said
she
?” Harrigan asked.
 

Another round of laughter split the short distance between them. This time he chose not to answer. Who else could the fool mean?

“I was speaking of the
mast
, Captain.” He pointed to Josiah’s chin. “The
mast
, that’s the
she
what made the impression on yourself.” Harrigan sobered, but only slightly. “You should have Cookie finish dressing the wound and any others you and Miss Gayarre found, or you’ll soon find more misery than even that one can give you.” He paused to touch Josiah’s sleeve. “And this time I
am
talking about the girl.”