Caution to the Wind (3 page)

“Do you think you’ll ever join the Navy again, sir?” the sober lieutenant asked with polite deference.

Will knew the young officer referred to the Continental Navy even though the only Navy he had ever
officially
belonged to had been the Royal Navy. He took a final swig from his glass, grimacing at the bitter tang of the foamy remnants. The sour taste in his mouth matched his mood.

This was supposed to be a celebration of the betrothal of his closest friend. With the
Amanda
not ready to sail until tomorrow, he had decided he might as well join James and his officers for a celebration supper at one of the finer inns in the small port town of Baltimore. Although a humble establishment, the Horse Head Inn boasted a card room that readily attracted American privateers, flush with cash from recent prize auctions. Later, they planned to join the tables where they would spend the evening putting considerable sums at risk in the hopes of even more substantial gains.

Except now, not yet midnight, all Will could think about was how to extricate himself from the betrothal party and return to his ship. He had a new crew waiting for him, and he wanted time to get to know them before they got underway. He needed to take their measure; assess their strength and their heart.

A pair of emerald green eyes, framed by long lashes, slightly turned up at the corners, flashed in his memory. The boy’s eyes? No, these were not the eyes of an adolescent boy.

But, if not the boy’s eyes, whose eyes were they? No matter. He shoved the image aside. They were probably the eyes of some long-forgotten paramour, the kind of entangling connection he could mercifully cast aside once his
Amanda
weighed anchor.

Will raised his glass to his lips, then remembering he had already drained it, set it down with a thud. Looking about for a barmaid, he realized his companions seemed to be waiting for a response.

“No,” Will said, answering the lieutenant’s question, “I don’t think I’ll be joining the Navy again.”
Continental or Royal
.

“Of course not.” The drunken officer teetered, catching himself just in time. “Money’s better as a pirate.”

Will gave the man a look intended to make it clear to even the most inebriated of the group that he had overstepped his bounds. The young officer flushed to the tips of his ears and took a swig of ale. Foam dripped from the ends of his wiry, blonde moustache when he finally pulled his face out of his glass.

“Ah, yes, well I think I’ll see what kind of ac—” the lieutenant’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat, “action I can find at the tables.”

“I’ll join you.” The other officer clasped his friend about the shoulders and ushered him away from the two captains who remained seated.

“Seriously, Will,” James said once they were alone, “we could use a man like you in the Continental Navy. With your skills, your reputation...your
luck
. Sailors would be signing up in droves.”

Will caught the eye of a girl of no more than seventeen or eighteen. Carrying several pints of beer in her sturdy hands, she wove her way through the crowded taproom until she reached the table next to them. She flashed him a crooked toothed grin over one shoulder, then set her burden down in front of a table full of young merchants who seemed as interested in her as the brew. She said something to them that made them laugh, with the exception of the one who appeared to be the youngest. His face took on the appearance of a ripe persimmon.

Turning, she wiped red, wet hands on a stained apron.

“Get you another one, Captain?” Her brown eyes roamed over Will’s well-tailored form with obvious appreciation.

Noting the lines at the corners of her eyes when smiled, Will reassessed his initial impression of the girl’s age. Not so young as he first thought. Old enough to have the experience of a woman, yet young enough to give the impression of innocence.

She leaned forward, far more than necessary, to take his glass.

Well, almost innocent.

“No, but thank you. That will be all. For now.”

The barmaid gave a throaty chuckle and regarded him through her lashes. “Well now, Captain, you just let me know when you might be needin’ something else.”

She sashayed toward the taps, holding their empty glasses in her hands, her skirts swishing from the exaggerated sway of her hips.

James rolled his eyes, cleared his throat, and turned back to Will. “Forget the Navy, Will. When will you realize the sea does not offer everything a man needs?”

“I have everything I need.” Will said, staring at the woman’s voluptuous backside even while his mind strayed to thoughts of his ship.

James glanced over his shoulder, then leaned forward. “You know what I mean,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Will turned his full attention to his friend. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

Of course, he did. This was hardly the first time James had lectured him on the need for a wife.

The barmaid glanced up from refilling a glass at the tap and caught Will’s gaze. She dipped her eyes until her long lashes brushed her cheeks. A knowing smile touched her lips.

Hell!
What had made him say something to give her false hope?

“I am not talking about companionship of that sort,” James protested, bringing Will’s gaze back once again to his friend’s earnest, but annoyed face. James ran his hand through his hair, his fingers leaving furrows in his brown locks. “Look, Will, our work is dangerous. Our lives may be short. I want you to find the same kind of happiness I’ve found with Isabella in whatever time you have left.” He paused, “Isa has a cousin who has come to visit—”

“Perhaps I will find it tonight,” Will interrupted his friend before he could hear, again, all about Isabella’s wonderful cousin. It seemed Isabella had an unending supply of cousins, all fresh from Spain and in search of husbands.

He heartily approved of his friend’s choice of a bride, the small, dark-haired and quite delectable Isabella. The two had overcome their initial differences, her hot temper and James’s colder English demeanor, and settled down to a largely peaceful courtship that eventually ensnared his best friend. Of course, James’s work kept him at sea most of the time so he didn’t expect he and his young bride would see much of each other, at least not until the war ended.

Will coughed into his hand to hide a cynical chuckle. The end of the war may bring peace to America, but perhaps not to his friend.

“Whoring is still more your style, I suppose,” said James, giving the barmaid a disapproving glare when she bent forward to serve another round of ale, the rough fabric of her skirt accentuating her plump, inviting derriere.

Will made a show of studying the woman. “I doubt she is a whore.”

At least she wouldn’t be with him. Women never named a price before they shared his bed, and they never asked for a thing afterwards. And Will never offered. He would take what they willingly gave, but he wouldn’t be the one to turn them into whores.

Now, with the passing of the years, this little game of self-absolution wore thin. Occasionally, he felt guilty about using the women, despite their willingness. It left him disgusted with them and his needs never fully sated regardless of their expertise and his physical fulfillment.

This time, maybe he would pay her but not bed her. He still wouldn’t be turning her into a whore, and she’d get something out of it. It would be a refreshing change.

He tossed some coins on the table and said his goodbyes to his friend before signaling for his coat. On his way out, he caught the girl’s eye with a look that promised he’d be back sooner or later.

Stepping into the darkness and a cold spring drizzle, he knew he never would.

****

“Well, Captain.” A tall man with a refined bearing and a crisp New England accent came to stand beside Will at the ship’s stern. “Our fresh water stores are replenished, we are just about re-supplied and the men have all reported to duty. We shall be ready to sail on the evening tide.”

“It’s about time, Buck,” Will grumbled, watching the loading of the last of the stores, an interminably slow business.

He clasped his hands behind his back, one tight fist firmly locked in the palm of his other hand, and watched two sailors struggle to carry a crate of chickens up the steep slope of the gangplank. The birds flapped about with such fury that the sailor who had the misfortune of being in the lead and walking backwards stumbled and fought to keep his balance.

“Careful there!” a corpulent man in a white butcher’s apron yelled from behind the men “or ya’ll be drowning the Captain’s breakfast, and I’ll be sending ya in after it.”

He followed them up the walk, his close-set eyes darting back and forth between the crate of chickens and the murky water below.

“Bull hasn’t yet found a real cook, eh?” Buck asked, his voice casual.

In no mood for jests, Will merely grunted. Cookie’s lack of culinary skills were the one dark cloud hanging over what looked to be a promising voyage.

“What duties did you assign to those two?” he asked, changing the subject with a nod toward Neil and Adam.

The boys stood back to back, Adam appearing confused and Neil belligerent while the men about them loaded the ship and readied it for sail. If they didn’t move their asses, they were likely to be trampled.

“Hmm, Adam and Neil Blakely...” Buck tapped his chin with one long index finger. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t decided. The taller one goes by the name of Adam. I’ve thinking of making him your cabin boy. He doesn’t seem cut out for manual labor.” He cocked his head at his captain. “A bit bonny to make it as a sailor, don’t you think, Captain?”

Will gave a small snort. Those had been his thoughts exactly. What had possessed him to go against Bull’s better judgment?

Will’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not yet eaten breakfast. Normally, his stomach was nothing to trifle with as it directly influenced his state of mind. “The Captain’s Curse” one of the ship’s boys had dubbed it, not realizing his captain stood directly behind him. Luckily for the boy, Will had eaten ashore that morning and the lad got away with no more than deck-swabbing duties for the whole of the month.

A scuffle by the railing caught Will’s attention. Judging from the scene, young Neil Blakely had taken offense at being jostled by one of the sailors loading supplies. The boy now stood toe to toe with a man a foot taller and at least twice his breadth. Neil’s strong voice carried on the breeze, and Will heard him call his adversary several names rarely known by boys not long removed from their mother’s apron strings.

When his mates started laughing behind him, Roger, a craggy veteran of more than two decades at sea, overcame his surprise at being upbraided by the scruffy young pup. His neck and ears changed to an alarming shade of crimson, and he lurched forward, clearly determined to teach the new recruit a lesson.

Beside Will, Buck tensed and leaned on the balls of his feet, ready to intervene. He looked over at his captain in anticipation of orders. Will considered letting him go. After all, the value of experience was limited if it left a member of his crew dead. Then he relaxed when he caught sight of Bull watching the scuffle from the other side of the ship. His crew master would intervene if called for. Neil was in no danger, other than receiving a cuff to the ears for his insolence.

However, Will thought with a frown, Adam might be in real peril if he didn’t get out from between Neil and Roger.

Roger froze, confusion flashing across his weather-beaten face when the lanky boy put one slender hand on his brother’s chest and then one on his.

Then confusion turned to irritation and neither combatant seemed too pleased. Their glares pinned the boy between them. Adam turned his head from one to the other, but the stiff shore wind swept his words away. By the look in his eyes and the rapid movement of his lips, Will would swear the boy scolded them.

Will laughed, then turned to stare at the open sea.

There was something about his two newest recruits. Neither looked fit to be a sailor. But earlier, when he had given them an appraisal that would have set older men to staring at their toes, they had returned his gaze without flinching. The shorter, dark-haired one had deep brown eyes laced with a strong streak of rebelliousness. Good to a point, Will supposed. Rebellious independence was the hallmark of a good privateer. If he could temper the boy’s natural instincts with some discipline, he might stand a chance.

The taller, thinner boy had eyes green as a troubled sea, but instead of defiance, they held something Will was at a loss to explain.

Those eyes, glaring up at him while he assessed the strength of their owner, had nearly made him lose sight of his duty. The boy didn’t look like he had done a hard day’s labor in his life, and his arms felt thin as twigs in Will’s grasp. Yet the boy’s eyes held him captive, threatening to pull him in, to drown him in their depths.

When he found his voice again, Will went against Bull’s judgment, something he rarely did.

How old was the lad anyway? He was tall, almost statuesque, with a lithe build and narrow shoulders. Dress him in a gown; he could pass for a woman and quite a fetching one at that.

Will scowled at the absurd thought.

“Buck, I want you to assign both of them to the same duties you would any waif who fancies himself a sailor. We need to work them hard to see what they’ve got.”

In time, they would prove his instincts right. He would see to that.

“You’re the captain.” Buck turned and strode toward the boys who had taken to yelling at each other to the amusement of the crowd of sailors gathering around them.

“You there!” he bellowed. “If you don’t have any work to do, I’ll see to it that you do. Don’t let me catch you idling. This isn’t the Royal Navy!”

Chapter Three

Amanda scoured the grain of the wooden deck with a holystone, the rough edges of the block abrading her palms. A late spring sun beat against her shoulders with a penetrating heat rare for early March, and a trickle of warm sweat ran between her shoulder blades. She sat back on her heels, abrading her brow with the gritty cotton sleeve of her shirt and shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun’s rays bouncing off the endless sea.