Captain of My Heart (28 page)

And at the mercy of elements beyond his
control.

Outside, snow fell on bushes and frozen
branches with a soft hiss. Above, a mouse scurried in the hayloft,
sending a few wisps of straw down atop Brendan’s nose. He sneezed
and flicked them away with a cold-numbed finger. His nose was even
colder, and he cupped his hand over it and blew into his palm to
warm it. He wished the rest of him was as cold. Faith, but he was
uncomfortably hard.

Mira was coming out of the stall now, leading
Rigel.

“Here, hold him.”

She thrust the lead shank into his hand, her
fingers brushing his. Wind drove a swirl of cold snowflakes through
the open doorway. She was harnessing the colt now, performing the
task with businesslike purpose. Watching her, he wondered if she
could see in the dark like one of her cats, so well did she know
every buckle, strap, and fastening.

She warmed Rigel’s cold bit in her hand,
slipped the bridle over his head, and prying open his jaws with her
thumb, gently eased the bit into his mouth. He stood chomping it
for a moment, his breath white in the gloom, then she backed the
colt into the traces of the sleigh, guiding him with soft words of
encouragement and a hand on his chest.

Brendan sensed her nervousness. “You don’t
have to do this, you know. I walked over here, I can certainly walk
back.”

She tossed a bundle of quilts and furs into
the sleigh. “Are you playing scaredy-cat again?”

“No . . . but I think you are.”

“I am not!”

He spread his hands in a gesture of truce,
for there was an edge to her voice, tenseness in her stance. “All
right, all right. Faith, you’re just like your
fathurrr!”

She laughed and led the colt out of the barn
and into the wintry night. After the shelter of the stable, the
cold struck like an Arctic blast, pasting his nostrils shut and
making his eyelids ache. He hauled the big door shut, tugged his
tricorne down low, and, briskly rubbing his hands together to
restore their warmth, handed her up into the sleigh. Rigel was
already fretting, tossing his head and stamping his foot in his
eagerness to be off. Brendan vaulted lightly up beside her and,
shaking out the heavy quilts and furs, tucked them carefully around
her shoulders and spread them over her lap. He felt her shudder as
he joined her beneath them, their thighs pressing against each
other. With a cluck of her tongue, she sent Rigel down the drive
and into the snowy night, the runners of the sleigh whispering
silently through the drifts.

Brendan studied her as she drove. “Warm
enough?”

She nodded, eyes straight ahead, face very
pale against her hood and that absurdly thick fall of dark,
snow-flecked hair that concealed most of her face. She looked
scared. And, bundled up in wool and fur and quilts, like a little
girl. He smiled wryly to himself. She thought merely to drive him
down to the wharf so he could go out to
Kestrel,
pack a
ditty bag, and return to the Ashton house, did she? Well, Ephraim
could rant and rave and stew in his own juices as far as he was
concerned. His daughter was no little girl. There was no way he’d
spend another night in that house, where Mira’s not-so-innocent
charms could further test his restraint. No, he would stay aboard
Kestrel,
Mira would stay safe in her own bed, and they’d all
be better for it.

Faith, maybe he’d even get some sleep.

As it was, he wondered how the devil he was
going to make it as far as the wharf. She was leaning against him,
stoking the fire in his heart, his blood, his loins. Swallowing
hard, he turned away, watching the houses filing swiftly past, most
of them dark and silent at this late hour. Branches bowed beneath
snow, and in places the road was indistinguishable. Rigel snorted
and pranced. Clumps of snow flew from his hooves, and his tail,
streaming in the wind, lashed Brendan’s cheeks.

Beside him, Mira slapped the reins against
the colt’s back and sent him into a swifter trot. The night was
cold enough to freeze the devil’s breath, but beneath her woolen
cloak and the heavy draping of quilts, her skin was moist and
hot—feverish, even. This was
Brendan
beside her, his
rock-hard thigh pressed intimately against hers, his shoulder
swaying against her with every movement of the sleigh. His nearness
made her feel hot and flushed, and brought an ache to places she
hadn’t known existed. Would he kiss her again? Oh, would he?

Don’t get your hopes up,
she
thought.

But he was the one who’d kissed her until her
knees had given out.

He was the one who’d kissed her a second
time.

And he was the one who now reached beneath
the quilt to slide his arm around her waist, pulling her ever
closer in a deliciously possessive way.
Oh, Brendan, my gallant
captain, my Captain from Connaught . . . I think I love you . . .
I
know
I love you . . .

A few kisses, a handsome face, and some
daring deeds in a fast sailing ship, and she was hopelessly
smitten. Yet he was everything a woman might dream about, and more.
Dashing and witty and full of fun. Humble, clever, and best of all,
a sea captain. She’d vowed that when and if she ever got married,
it would be to a sea captain. But a
British
one? She
frowned. No, he was Irish. . . .

Who cared, as long as he fought for
America!

They passed the Beacon Oak, the Liberty Tree,
sleeping houses, and white, empty fields that rolled away into
darkened woods. At Fish Street, she slowed Rigel so they could make
the corner. The Dalton house swept by on the right, smoke pouring
from both chimneys, and one upstairs window still glowing with
light. Almost across the street, the Tracys’ big brick mansion
stood like a leviathan; both Dalton and Tracy had entertained
General Benedict Arnold when he’d brought his troops through en
route to the Quebec wilderness back in ’75, the expedition to
involve Canada in the patriot cause ending in disaster. Now even
those memories seemed distant as the snow whispered against her
face and the wind blew in off the frozen river, colder, wetter, and
harsher now as they neared the ocean.

She slowed Rigel to a walk when they reached
the waterfront. The Ashton Shipyards were quiet and dark. Snow
covered the roofs of the little smithy, the mast house, even the
long ropewalk. Giant masts of spruce and cedar lay locked in the
frozen mast pond, and the air was sweet with the scent of cold
sawdust. A ship’s skeleton, dark against the night sky, was taking
shape on the ways, and a big three-master was snugged up to the
wharf, its bowsprit looming high above their heads. Crates lay
stacked neatly nearby, buried beneath snow and awaiting loading on
the morrow. In the darkness, the wharf creaked with the push-pull
of the river against the incoming tide, and ice floes groaned in
agony as the current shoved them up against the frozen shore.

But out in the harbor the current ran strong,
the water cold and black.

Out in the harbor,
Kestrel
rode
silently at anchor.

Mira drew back on the reins. The moment had
come far too soon, and not once had Brendan taken any liberties
with her that propriety dictated he shouldn’t—and her hopes
dictated he should. She felt strangely cheated, deprived,
empty.

“Well, here we are!” she chirped, trying to
mask her dismay. “I’ll wait while you go pack a ditty bag.”

He didn’t move, and she sensed that he was
struggling with something deep inside.

“Brendan?”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” He looked
steadily down into her eyes, then took her hands. “You’ll go back
to your da’s house, Mira, and you’ll go alone.”

It was his captain’s voice, the one that gave
orders and expected them to be obeyed.

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

“But, Brendan . . . you heard
Father—everything’s all ready for you.”

“Mira, I can’t. Please understand.”

“I don’t understand anything!” Coldness swept
against her thigh as he stood, then leaped down from the sleigh
with easy grace. She stared at him, unconsciously spreading her
palm over the seat where he’d been and cherishing the warmth that
lingered there beneath the heavy fur.

His
warmth.

“Brendan.”

He was walking away from her!

“Brendan!”

He paused only long enough to touch his hat
before striding determinedly toward the wharf. And she knew then
that he was afraid, that he was putting as much distance between
them as possible, probably trying to escape what must be the same
temptations he’d spoken of back at the house. Mouth agape, she
watched him walk away from her. Toward the river, toward his little
boat, and toward the schooner, waiting silently, triumphantly, out
in the river for her captain.

Was
Kestrel
’s call more powerful than
her own?

Jealousy, insane and ridiculous, swept
through her. Desert her for a ship, would he?! She jumped down from
the sleigh, scooped up a handful of snow, and with all her
strength, sent it howling through the brittle air. It caught him
between those elegant British shoulders with a dull
thud
.

“Ouch!”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my boat. And then out to my ship, and
then to bed for the night.”

“You can’t do that.” She raised her voice.
“Father’ll be furious!”

He stopped, his form hazy through the falling
snow. “No. I think his
daughter
will be furious. Now, get
back in that sleigh and drive yourself home.”

“I’m not going alone!”

“Well, you’re not going with me, either. Good
night, lassie.”

“Brendan!”

He turned, expecting another snowball to come
slamming into his back at any moment. She was still standing there,
bewildered, hurt, and lost.
Faith.
Didn’t she understand?
Didn’t she realize the inner turmoil she was causing him? He didn’t
trust himself around her! Ten minutes pressed against her in that
damned sleigh and the agony in his loins was unbearable. Ten more
minutes and he’d find himself acting upon it.

But she’d sure managed to get his attention,
hadn’t she? And now that she had, she used it to her best
advantage. “Fraidy-cat,” she called softly through the falling
snow.

“Temptress.”

“Chicken.”

“Waif.”

“I’m going with you, Brendan.”

“Oh no, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am!”

She suddenly turned and unhitched the horse
from the sleigh, her movements swift and sure. She removed the
bridle and tossed it into the sleigh, and before he realized what
she was up to and could run forward to stop her, she’d slapped the
flat of her hand against Rigel’s backside and sent him galloping
away in a cloud of snow, leaving the sleigh standing there,
immobile in the drifts.

“You little fool!” he cried, horrified.

Her laughter rang out in the night.

“Guess you have no choice now but to take me
out to the ship.” She smiled coyly, folded her arms, and leaned
back against the sleigh. He wanted to strangle her. “Unless you
want me to walk home alone. Or perhaps you’d like to escort me,
hmm?”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t know how your
da puts up with you.”

“He doesn’t. He’d like to see me married off
and out of his hair.”

“You’d better not have me in your sights,
Mira.”

“Come now, Brendan. You said yourself that
you don’t know how Father can put up with me. If he can’t, how
could anyone else? Certainly not you. You’re quite safe.” She
smiled, the sides of her nose crinkling endearingly. “So take me
out to your ship.”

“If I do that, neither one of us’ll be
safe.”

“If you do that, neither one of us’ll be
cold.”

“If I do that, both of us’ll be sorry.”

“If you
don’t
do that, I’m going to
take your head off with this snowball!”

They stood there in the falling snow,
shivering in the sharp wind, neither willing to give an inch.
Finally Mira tossed her head. She dropped the snowball and clasped
her arms about her. “All right. So I’ll stand here and f-f-freeze
to death.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m testing your qualities as a
gentleman.”

“You’re testing my
restraint
as a
gentleman!”

“Maybe we’ll both be lucky and it’ll break
soon.”

He made a frustrated sound and clenched his
fists at his sides. “You’re impossible, d’you know that?”

“No. Just very good at getting what I want.
It comes from long years of practice, Brendan. Sorry.”

“And what do you want,
Moyrrra?”

She touched her cold lips. “For you to kiss
me again. And then for you to take me out to
Kestrel
for the
grand tour you’ve never given me. As her builder’s daughter, I
deserve one, don’t I?” He began to fidget, and she knew he was
wavering. And then she played her ace. “She’s awfully pretty
sitting out there in the snow, isn’t she?”

She hid a secret smile as his expression
softened at the mention of his beloved ship. It was easy to find
the holes in Brendan’s defenses.

“
Faith,”
he began.

“And then I want you to walk home with me,
sleep in the room next to mine, and have breakfast with us. Just
like Father asked you to.”

“He didn’t ask, he ordered.”

“Orders are meant to be followed.”

“I follow no one’s orders but my own, and
half the time not even then. I owe your da nothing!”

“But you owe me
.
After all, I’m the
one who’ll be standing here freezing to death if you don’t —”

“Damn you, Mira Ashton!”

“And damn you, Captain Merrick! You take one
step toward that ship without me and I’ll lay you so low with this
here snowball, you won’t get up for a week!”