Caution to the Wind (35 page)

He paced the small confines of his quarters. How could he have misread Amanda? After months in close quarters, and their shared intimacy, he thought he knew her as well as he knew anyone. He had been so certain of her affections, that he had almost convinced himself a formal marriage proposal would be unnecessary. What woman, especially an innocent, would jump into bed with a man she didn’t intend to marry?

Yet, she had left him, forever, without so much as a farewell.

Will shook his head, disgusted. He acted like a damn bridegroom, jilted at the altar. Well he wouldn’t sit around moping and waiting for his lover to return. He stopped pacing and strode out the door, scaling the stairs to the upper deck in two steps.

The first reaction from his crew did nothing to soothe his irritation. Several men stopped what they were doing to eye him for a moment before they busied themselves, even more diligently than before, with whatever task lay at hand. Even the more slovenly among his crew were unusually hard-working this morning.

“Buck, take us away from this damn coast,” Will grumbled. “I need some fresh sea air.”

“Any destination in particular, sir?” Buck asked.

Will glared at him. Buck knew he had free rein to improvise when his orders were nonspecific. His request for clarification seemed an obvious attempt to needle his captain. The counsel Buck had given yesterday spoke volumes about his soft spot for Amanda. He probably thought Will had sent her ashore, and now sought to make him suffer for it. He would regain command of his ship, starting with his second in command.

“Don’t toy with me, Buck,” Will said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Buck said with nary a trace of his usual good humor. “I just wondered if you had a destination in mind.”

“Away from here!” Will exploded.

He gave a snort of disgust and strode to the bulwark. He had to get away from Buck before he did something he regretted and destroyed his relationship with his closest friend.

Did Buck think he had sent Amanda to live with her father? Did he think him capable of leaving her behind? He would let him think that for now. It was preferable to explaining that he had been the one abandoned.

Will clasped his hands at his back and stared at the sea, adopting a stoic expression he hoped did not betray his inner turmoil. Only those brave enough to venture close would be able to sense the tension lying just below the surface, but his men gave him a wide berth.

Damn her and damn them! And damn his small ship!

Sailors loved nothing more than a juicy piece of gossip, setting upon it like a pack of gulls.

From the way they avoided him, his crew might well know he and Amanda had spent the night together. If one man had seen her race into his cabin last night, they would all know by morning. They would also know, even before he did, that she had left him.

Will’s stomach clenched, and he was glad he had not eaten Cookie’s eggs.

Ever since she came on board, he seemed to be the last to know everything. Perhaps it was better for his crew, and for him, if she were gone. Her very presence undermined his authority, disrupted his ability to command, and weakened crew morale. Despite Buck’s assertions to the contrary, he had been right all along, women did not belong on ships.

“My glass!” Will bellowed, startling a sailor who had been careless enough to wander close.

The man retrieved the spyglass, handed it to his captain and then scurried away.

Will snapped open the long tube and held it to his eye. The wind whipping his hair about his face, he scanned the horizon. Buck ordered full sail, and the
Amanda
picked up speed, skipping across the waves, leaving Baltimore behind.

He would give anything for an English ship to appear on the horizon just now, but the crisp line where sea met sky remained unmarred by cloud or sail. He continued to scan, hoping to appear less brooding. He could not let his crew see how much her departure had affected him.

He lowered the spyglass and caught a few of the sailors scanning the horizon as well, their hands shielding their eyes against the glare of the morning sun. His mood elevated ever so slightly. There was nothing like the all-consuming prospect of chasing a British prize to take the focus off him.

Alas, with the aid of the glass, he could see there were no enemy ships upon which to vent his anger and frustration. He snapped the instrument shut. If only he could have willed a ship to appear. Or better yet, a whole squadron. In fact, prudence be damned, he felt like taking on a ship of war instead of a straggling merchantman. He wanted a fight, and if he couldn’t have it with her, the whole of the Royal Navy might do.

Staring out at the empty horizon, Will pondered how best to spend the next month vexing the English and forgetting Amanda. The English forces and the loyal Tories in America were hungry for supplies, and that translated into more opportunities for him. His chance would come.

The mere thought of the hunt sent a primal thrill coursing through him. If he were lucky, he would spend the next month or so, prowling the seas, and not think of Amanda for more than a moment. Will clasped his hands behind his back. With no English in sight, he allowed himself to envision Amanda’s future.

She would languish on shore, drinking tea with her father and his acquaintances. She might make a few female friends, provided she could knock off some of the rough edges she had developed aboard ship. He chuckled, wondering if she could manage to keep a civil tongue while playing a game of whist. He doubted she even knew she had a penchant for swearing under her breath when frustrated.

After life at sea, she would be drowning in boredom after a month, probably less. Once he had bloodied a few British noses, he would track her down at her father’s home, whence forth she would plead with him to take her back even as a lowly member of his crew. He would, of course, but only after she did a significant amount of apologizing and agreed to marry him.

A joyful possibility crossed his mind. Perhaps she would even be with child! He had taken no precautions. He hadn’t thought he needed to. After a month passed, she would surely know, and if she did carry his child, she would have no choice but to accept him.

Of course, if she were pregnant, he would not give her the chance to plead. Nor would he give her the chance to decline his proposal. He would announce their betrothal to the world, and her father, and force her to the altar even if he had to carry her there himself.

“Sail ho, Captain!” Nate cried from the platform above, snapping Will out of pleasant dreams of Amanda’s ultimate surrender.

“Where away?” Will called.

“Off the port bow,” Nate bellowed.

Will snapped open the glass again and scanned the horizon. A faint silhouette shimmered in the sunlight, no more than a flash of light and shadow before it disappeared again. The boy had excellent vision! Will peered through his glass, hoping it hadn’t been light bouncing off a distant wave or the remnants of a low wisp of cloud. His heart leapt when the shadow appeared again. Eyes straining against the glass, he watched it grow larger and resolve into the shape of a distant sail.

He was about to give the order, when Nate called down again, “There’s three of ’em, sir!”

Will brought the glass to his eye again. The armada he wished for took form and sent his mood soaring. Three square-rigged ships dotted the horizon. Already at full sail, the
Amanda
gained fast. They were English merchantmen, and from the size of them, all likely to be heavily armed and ready for a fight. Well, they would have it!

Normally, three armed ships would be more than a lone schooner would take on, but the
Amanda
had sailed close enough for Will to see these ships were low in the water, indicating they bore heavy cargo. This and their size made them significantly less agile than the
Amanda
.

A fresh breeze tugged at Will’s hair, and he lifted his face to the wind. The blustery weather could be unpredictable, but the
Amanda
had been built to handle herself in capricious seas. The trick would be to disable, perhaps even sink, one of the ships to even the odds. It would mean the loss of a prize, but it would lessen the risk for his crew, and he wasn’t about to put the salving of his ego above their safety.

His crew would have to hit the first merchantman “between wind and water”—the underside of the hull, normally below water, that showed when the ship rolled over in the waves. The nine-pound shot from his cannons could do considerable damage if aimed well, and they would have to, because the men of the
Amanda
would not get another chance at it.

Will snapped his glass shut again, his laughter bringing smiles to his crew. This had to be a good omen. Just after making plans to spend the next month vexing the British, the Good Lord had sent him three promising candidates to sink his teeth into. Now, if it wasn’t asking too much, perhaps God would see fit to ensure that Amanda would be miserable on land. Not too much, but enough to make her realize where she belonged.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The trip from the wharf to the home that Amanda’s father had established in Baltimore promised to be a dreary one. The small transport skiff bumped against the dock, and the first drop of cold rain hit Amanda’s cheek. With an anxious look in his eye, her father reached down with both hands to help her onto solid ground. When she informed him that she had no luggage, he shot her a questioning glance, but said nothing.

Instead, he wrapped her hand in the crook of his elbow, capturing her as though he sensed her reluctance, and led her to a hired coach.

The vehicle appeared as though it had been owned by someone of wealth and status at one time, but had fallen into disrepair. The gilded outlines of a stylized grayhound and a touch of red paint were all that remained of a family crest that once emblazoned the peeling ochre lacquer. Even the two sway-backed horses, with their bent heads, dull eyes, and protruding ribs, looked like relics from a faded past.

How appropriate that such a dreary conveyance would carry her to a new life.

Thunder rumbling in the distance, Amanda’s father handed her up into the shadowy interior. She glanced about, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Closer inspection did not improve her first impressions. Red velvet curtains, no more than rags really, hung at the dirt-encrusted windows. The gold cushions on the seat were matted and stained. Twin depressions, dark fibers delineating their edges, showed where countless derrieres had perched over the years. Still, she had never ridden in anything fancier than a horse drawn cart, so even in a state of disrepair, the coach would have fascinated her on any other day. Today, however, the dilapidated interior matched her despair.

The carriage swayed alarmingly when Amanda’s father clambered up the stairs to sit across from her, and she had to grab the leather strap to keep from tumbling out the door. Clearly, the springs were in no better shape than the interior. She hoped the ride would not be a long one.

What started as a light sprinkling of cold rain turned into a steady drizzle. The driver coaxed the two tired horses into motion. Thunder boomed overhead, and Amanda pressed her face against the glass, peering through the streaks of grit to see dark clouds rolling in. At any moment, the skies might open up and turn the rutted road into a mud path that would make progress impossible. Amanda brightened momentarily at the thought.

The rain beat down in a continuous drizzle that made the roads slow going and uncomfortable, but not impassable even though the rundown carriage seemed destined to find each furrow.

She leaned her head against the side of the carriage and watched the rain beat a steady rhythm against the window. The drops caught, pooled, and fell like dirty tears down the glass.

Sensing her father’s anxious gaze on her from the opposite side of the coach, Amanda sat up. She couldn’t let him think her anything but the happiest daughter in the world to be reunited with her father. And she was happy, or at least mostly so. She just hadn’t expected to find herself ripped in half when she left the
Amanda
and her captain behind.

Her body still tingled where he had lain against her, still pulsed where his rough hands had caressed her. She had washed in the basin that morning, but the scent of their lovemaking still lingered on her skin.

The coach ground to a halt, and Amanda raised her chin. She cast a questioning glance at her father, then peered out the rain-streaked window. She could see nothing from her vantage point inside the vehicle except a few townspeople, hats and bonnets pulled low over their brows, skittering along the wooden walkway, seeking refuge from what had become a downpour.

Mr. Blakely opened the door to the carriage and leaned out. Gripping the side to steady himself, he spoke to the driver. The wind whipped their words away, and Amanda could not hear the exchange.

He pulled himself back inside, rain running in rivulets from the corners of his hat.

“What is it, Father?”

“Appears to be a carriage ahead of us stuck in the mud,” Mr. Blakely said. “Not to worry though. I’ll get out and help the driver. We’ll be on our way in no time.”

“Be careful,” Amanda cautioned, laying a hand on her father’s sleeve.

Something about the situation set her on edge, but she couldn’t explain it, certainly not to her father. With no justification for the uneasiness, she would only give him cause for concern about her soundness of mind. He had enough of his own troubles, having only recently recovered from an illness himself.

“Not to worry dear.” He patted her hand before stepping out of the carriage. Rain blew in through the open door, spattering her green silk with dark splotches. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Amanda by herself, with nothing to do but wait. She shut her eyes, leaned back against the tattered gold cushions, and listened to the rain beat against the coach, trying not to think about the dreariness of the future that awaited her.