Bound by the Heart (4 page)

Summer held the wool blanket around her shoulders with
one hand while the other was treated to some oily brown paste. It stung a
moment, then numbed the whole area of her palm, enough that she could flex her
fingers without gritting her teeth from the pain. He wrapped it carefully in a
strip of linen, then nodded for the other.

The captain walked past them to his desk. Summer was
taken aback to see that he had changed from the wet breeches into a fresh dry
pair—practically right in front of her! She blushed furiously and dropped the
bandaged hand to the mattress to steady herself. The blanket loosened and
slipped from her shoulders.

Wade selected a thin black cigar from a humidor on the
desk and frowned. "She'd best strip out of those wet clothes and dry
herself well before getting into bed. Thorny—fetch her one of my shirts from
the locker. We don't need a governess with pneumonia on our hands."

"I'll not get pneumonia, Captain," Summer
retorted sharply. "And I assure you Michael and I will do our best to see
that we are no burden on your
generosity."

"Damn right you won't be, Governess, if you know
what's good for you."

Summer's cheeks flamed darker at his rudeness, but he
merely grunted at Thorny and strode out of the cabin.

Mr. Thorntree cackled again. "No trouble, eh? Ho!
Ye should've been 'ere when all the 'ollerin an' screamin' started. Sparked the
cap'n's temper a mite, runnin' into ye unawares the way we did. Could've been
another ship, ripe as n'owt. Whoever was on the watch'll prob'ly feel the lick
o' the cat tomorry."

"Lick of the cat?" Michael queried.

"Cat o' nines, aye. 'Ere, ain't ye never 'eard
'ow a man learns 'is lessons on ship? Might say as 'ow the cat is our
governess."

"Whipping a man for being unable to see in the
fog and darkness is barbaric," Summer declared icily.

Thorny curled his upper lip back, debating his reply.
"Mayhap so. An' mayhap ee'll be that much sharper next time 'round fer the
lesson. Sharks in these 'ere waters 'r mean devils. They take real kindly ter
sudden meals. Give a man 'is d'ruthers, I warrant ee'd take a taste o' the cat
over bein' fodder fer them big whites anytime. Ye knows it yerself. 'Ow long
were ye floatin' 'round afore we picked ye up?"

"Most of the day and all night," Michael
supplied in a whisper.

"Aye, an' would ye care ter do it again
soon?"

"No, sir." The boy's eyes were round and
frightened again. He was remembering the "slippery things" he had
felt gliding past his legs.

"Mr. Thorntree," Summer broke in,
"Michael has been through quite enough today without you reminding him.
And I should prefer it if he stayed in here with me tonight; it would be cruel
and inhuman to make him sleep alone in a strange bunk in a hostile atmosphere.
Thank you for your assistance, however. If we need anything, we shall address
you."

Obediah Thorntree's eyebrows bristled up almost to his
hairline. The creases parted, and for a full minute the whites of his eyes were
visible.

"Address me?" He looked from one to the
other. "Aye. Ye do that, lass. Address me."

He shuffled to the cabin door and was halted by a
further question from Summer.

"Is there a lock on that door?"

"Eh?"

"A lock, Mr. Thorntree. Does the door have a
lock?"

Thorny scratched his head, screwing up his mouth to a
thoughtful pucker. "W-a-ll now, I don't t'ink as 'ow the cap'n would take
too kindly ter bein' locked owt'n 'is own cabin. Mayhap ye should wait a day 'r
two afore ye try that one on 'im."

Summer was bone-weary and growing more so by the
minute. The tempting softness of the bed beckoned her, and she did not see
anything to be gained by arguing with an illiterate sailor.

"Very well," she sighed and waved her hand
impatiently, "I shall discuss it with him myself in the morning. Good
night, Mr. Thorntree."

He gave one last bemused glance over his bony
shoulders before pulling the door shut behind him.

Michael released the pent-up breath he had been
holding. "Summer! You oughtn't talk to them like that. You're supposed to
be my governess, not Lady Muck."

Summer sighed and rubbed her throbbing temples. Her
body had no more reserves of strength to call upon, and although she heard
Michael's voice, she had no idea what he was saying. She slid sideways onto the
berth, curled into a tight ball, and was instantly asleep.

Chapter
3

S
ummer
C
ambridge
had never seen a shark, yet she dreamed of them.
Sleek, writhing forms circled in the water, razor-sharp teeth gleamed from
gaping, white jaws. . . . She spent long hours tossing and turning in the bed,
suffering through alternating waves of heat and chills that left her drenched
in a clammy sweat. She was dimly aware of someone entering the cabin on several
occasions to thrust a cool hand on her brow and adjust the tangle of blankets.
She heard background voices and bells and heavy footsteps on the deck overhead,
and she could feel the rhythmic dip and sway of the ship thrumming through the
currents.

"Summer?" It was a whisper, very close to
her ear. "Summer, are you awake?"

A crusted, bleary gray eye opened and sought the
source of the disturbance.

"I am now," she said, shutting off the sight
of Michael's disgustingly cheerful face.

"Jolly well time, I should think. You've been off
in another world for two days now."

"Two days?" The eye opened again and slowly
blinked into focus. Summer sat upright, wincing as each movement brought an
introduction to muscles she had never met before. Her legs and arms were
knotted tight, her stomach ached hollowly, her tongue felt glued to the roof of
her mouth . . . and Michael was grinning.

"What do you find so amusing?" she demanded.

"You. You look positively dreadful."

"Thank you very much, Master Cambridge. I feel
positively dreadful."

"Not at all the way you looked on the wharf in
New Providence," he said pertly. "I thought, 'Oh my gosh, she's come
back a real snob. She'll walk about with her nose in the air and not share the
time of day with any of us anymore.' That's what I thought."

"Was it indeed." Summer regarded her brother
narrowly. "You seem to have changed faces yourself overnight, little
brother. What happened to the shy, reserved, young gentleman who was so proper
and stuffy he made me cringe?"

"Oh, he's still there, but I rather think you
need cheering up at the moment. After all, we have been kidnapped, and we have
been forced to join the company of a crew of renegade smugglers."

"You don't know for certain we've been
kidnapped," she sighed. "And you don't know that the
Chimera
is smuggling anything."

"Oh, yes, I do. I've had a peek in her cargo
hold."

"What?"

"It's true. And she's loaded to the gun deck with
rum and coffee, English wool and even tea! Those were only the crates I could
see. We're in for a jolly good show if the
Chimera
crosses paths with one of our
revenuers."

"But tea and coffee . . . there's nothing illegal
in that."

"There is if you intend to sell it to the French
or run it through a blockade line
...
or if the crates you've got the goods packed in are stamped with the imprint of
the
Reliant."

"Michael—" Summer pressed her fingers to her
temples.

"The
Reliant,"
he explained patiently,
"is a schooner that went missing about two months ago. She was
transporting a large cargo of
guns . . .
among other things."

"Guns? But you said tea and coffee."

"Haven't you ever heard of false-bottom crates?
Smugglers use them all the time."

Summer was not overly impressed. "And what do you
mean by missing?"

"I mean missing. Sunk by pirates. Captured and
taken as prize by American privateers, or French privateers, or Spaniards. I
mean missing."

"And you think Captain Wade was involved?"

"Well, I don't think he wasn't, in some way or
another."

Summer groaned and leaned back on the bed.
"Michael, you are giving me a headache. How can you possibly look at this
as some kind of an adventure? We're miles from home and heading in the opposite
direction. Goodness only knows when we'll ever be put on the right track again.
You heard that miserable little man say it could be a month or a year. As for
crossing paths with a British ship—"

She was cut short by an abrupt tapping on the cabin
door. It came in advance of a large wooden tray balanced in the hands of Mr.
Thorntree.

"Ahh! Glad ter see ye up, lass. Feelin'
better?"

"Some," she admitted, craning her neck to
see what was creating the delicious aroma on the tray.

"Steamin' 'ot biscuits an' a b'iled capon,"
Thorny announced proudly. "I told Cook I wanted sum'mit special ter stick
good 'n fast ter yer gizzards. Tea's in the crock 'ere, an' a rice duff with a
nice bit o' raisins tucked in."

"That's very kind and thoughtful of you, Mr.
Thorntree."

"Bah, no bother. The lad 'ere told me 'bout yer
fits. Ye never mind n'owt, ole T'orny'U see yer well done by."

"My . . . fits?"

Michael coughed loudly. "Yes, indeed. You were
thrashing about something awful in your sleep. Talking all sorts of nonsense as
well. Oh, this does look splendid, Thorny. And the pudding looks jolly ripe,
not at all like the watery gruel we had on the
Vixen."

"Aye, Cook 'as a regular fine 'and when it comes
ter sweets." He paused, and his lips moved while he counted the faint
rings of the ship's bell. "Right. I'll leave ye to it then. Cap'n'll be
wantin' me on deck."

"Thank you again," Summer said. "Oh,
and Mr. Thorntree—?"

"Aye?"

"Could you arrange to have some hot water sent
in? I should like to have a bath if it is at all possible. Michael will be
wanting one as well."

"Eh? A wot?"

"A bath, Mr. Thorntree. If you have a large
receptacle . . . a cask of some sort, or a barrel
...
it would be that much easier."

"Bleedin' 'ell," Thorny muttered and
scratched his head. "Next ye'll be wantin' a fancy ball gown?"

"As a matter of fact," Summer pulled the
quilts up to her chin, "I would appreciate some manner of clothing."

"The Cap'n already said ye could 'ave one of 'is
shirts," he exclaimed as if astounded a body could want for more.

"Well, I can hardly walk around wearing nothing
but that!"

"Ye cain't walk around a-tall!" Thorny
snorted." Cap'n's orders."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Cap'n says ee don't want ye topside. Bad fer the
men ter see an 'arf nekkid woman traipsin' up on the decks."

"Let me see if I understand this," Summer
began, feeling the anger surge into her cheeks.

"Nuttin' ter understand, lass. Ye're only a wee
t'ing. N'owt enough o' ye ter go 'round fer the 'ole crew, so it's best ye
don't go wavin' it in their faces."

Summer turned a warm shade of scarlet. She heard a
second, warning cough from Michael, but it was too late.

"You can just go and tell your captain that I
shall go topside when and if I so choose, and that if he or any of his
degenerate crew attempt to dissuade me in any way, they shall have the whole of
the British Navy to answer to. It is to be understood that Michael and I are
traveling under the protection of Sir Lionel Cambridge. We are British
subjects. We are not at war with America—
yet
—and therefore we expect to have every courtesy
extended to us until such time as we may leave this ship and return home. Any
violation of any kind will be reported and dealt with swiftly and without
recourse. Do I make myself quite clear?"

Thoray's jaw was gaping. Michael was staring at Summer
in horror, wondering if perhaps she had lost her mind.

"Now," she said archly. "I will have
that bath. . . unless you have anything else to say?"

Thorny's mouth snapped shut. He glanced at Michael,
then at Summer once more before hastily retreating from the cabin. Michael
continued to gape at her even after the door was safely shut.

"Summer," he said on a rush of air,
"are you sure you should have said that to him? He could come back here
with a cutlass and slit our throats."

"Oh, good heavens, he wouldn't dare. And it is
important not to show weakness. If they are who you think they are and if what
they have in mind is indeed kidnapping and ransom, we mustn't let them think
they can get away with it without creating an incident in the process."

"You mean a war?" His hazel eyes rounded.

"It would be nothing less than they
deserve," she said with conviction. "This Captain Privateer cannot
just go around kidnapping His Majesty's subjects without feeling some
heat."

Michael grinned suddenly. "Or without being
blasted out of the water. Don't forget the
Caledonia
is lurking somewhere about.
'Old Winifred' . . . er, I mean Captain Winfield is not going to just sail away
without making a jolly good search of the area to find us."

Summer had moved to the table and was inspecting the
contents of the tray. "But it has been two days. We must be several
hundred miles from where the storm separated us."

"If we've moved fifty, I'll eat every square of
canvas on board this ship," Michael said emphatically. "You may have
been tossing about in your sleep, but the
Chimera
has been riding peacefully at
anchor. She was damaged in the storm, and I gather Captain Wade wants to be
sure she's seaworthy before he takes her out into open water again."

"At anchor?" Summer gasped, licking the
crumbs of a buttery biscuit from her fingers. She went to the gallery and
unlatched one of the heavy diamond-paned windows. "Where?"

"I don't know," Michael shrugged. "I've
asked, but no one will tell me. It's an island friendly to Captain Wade,
though. I think."

"An island," she murmured. "If we only
knew which one, or if we could somehow get a message ashore—"

The next instant they both whirled to stare at the door
as it flung wide open and crashed against the wall. Captain Morgan Wade stood
there, his long legs splayed apart, his hands resting squarely on his hips. His
jaw was tensed into a hard ridge, and the blue of his eyes flashed almost
black.

"I understand you have a message for me," he
snarled, taking a step across the threshold.

Summer was sufficiently startled to drop the quilt
from around her shoulders. She recovered her composure quickly and met the
challenge in the blue eyes with some fire of her own.

"How dare you enter this cabin without knocking!
Get out at once. At once, do you hear me!"

Morgan Wade's mouth curved into an ominous smile. He
kept his gaze fixed on Summer for several moments before flicking it toward
Michael. "Get out, boy," he said evenly. "Now."

Michael looked from the captain to his sister and back
to the captain.

"I said now, boy, unless you care to feel the
back of my hand."

Michael swallowed hard and edged to the door slowly,
pressing as far from the angered captain as he could.

Summer took a step forward. "You have no right
ordering him to do anything."

"Shut up!" Wade commanded, "or, by
Christ, you'll both be feeling the bite of my hand!"

Summer gasped and retraced her step. Michael exchanged
a last apologetic glance with her, then dashed out into the corridor. Wade
slammed the door shut and faced Summer.

"Now, just who the hell do you think you are,
Governess, and where the hell do you think you are that you can order my men
around like servants?"

Summer responded in kind to the insolence in his
voice. "Michael and I are British subjects. We travel under the protection
of the governor of Barbados."

"On board this ship, madam, I am the governor,
the president, the king and any other figurehead you'd care to mention. I
decide who does what. I decide who earns special treatment, who earns the lash
and who earns the rat watch in the bilges."