Dawn on a Distant Shore (48 page)

"Boots,"
Nathaniel said. "I should have figured you couldn't sit still. I was just
having a discussion with Mr. MacKay."

"Yes, I heard.
Now, Mr. MacKay, are you familiar with the gospel of Mark?"

Some of the madness
had slipped away from MacKay's eyes, and he seemed suddenly embarrassed at this
situation he found himself in.

"O' course. Let
me up, man."

"And with chapter
ten, verse fourteen?" Elizabeth went on.

He flushed, and set
his bloody mouth in a hard line.

"Let me quote:
"But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer
the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: forof such is the
kingdom of God.""

MacKay made a coarse
sound in his throat.

"I see,"
Elizabeth said. "You are one of those faithful who pick and choose those
parts of the scripture that best suit your purpose. And your purpose is to
cause a little girl as much agony as possible."

MacKay struggled a
little, and Nathaniel pushed harder with his knee until he stopped. "You don't
want to be rude, now," he said, wiping his knife on the man's shirt.
"The lady spoke to you."

""Let the
woman learn in silence with all subjection,"" MacKay replied.

Nathaniel leaned in
closer, but Elizabeth stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me be blunt,
Mr. MacKay." She came closer, and crouched down to look him directly in
the face. "If you come anywhere near any of my children again, if you
speak a word within my stepdaughter's hearing, if you even look at any of them,
I will not bother to intercede when my husband next chooses to come looking for
you. And more than that, I will see to it that you lose your commission on this
ship and never get another. Do we understand each other?"

MacKay's mouth
contorted. "I understand weel enough," he said. "Papist savages
and whores. Ye'll fit right in at Carryck, the lot o' ye."

His nose broke with a
crack that made Elizabeth jump. Nathaniel hauled MacKay forward by the collar,
and let him struggle while the blood ran down his face.

When he stopped
coughing, Nathaniel said, "Right now I'm wondering just how dull-witted
you are. You'll either give your word that you'll leave me and mine alone, or
you and me will finish this conversation face-to-face."

Elizabeth was very
pale, but she said nothing. And neither did MacKay, who hung limp from
Nathaniel's fist.

"I will go,
then," she said. "And leave you to it."

MacKay's head came up,
eyes rolling in pain.

"Ye have my
word," he coughed, covering his face with his hands.

A coward, in the end.
Nathaniel let him drop to the floor.

"I will send word
to the Hakim that you need his attention," Elizabeth said, over her
shoulder. "Or would you rather have your wife's help?"

"A fine choice
ye've given me." MacKay's shoulders shook, in pain or laughter it was not
clear. "Infidel or witch. I'd rather bleed tae death right here."

"Let's hope for
her sake you do just that," Nathaniel said.

MacKay drew his sleeve
across his mouth. "Ye resemble the earl in mair ways than one. Has anyone
tolt ye that?"

"It's been
mentioned," Nathaniel said. "It means nothing to me."

"It will."
MacKay's mouth twisted. "Soon enough."

Robbie MacLachlan sat
with his back to the
Jackdaw
's longboat and stared unhappily into the
bowl cupped in his hands. "Should I nivver eat salt beef agin, it will be
far tae soon."

Hawkeye raised a
shoulder in agreement. Over the brim of his own bowl he was watching Stoker and
Giselle, who stood at the rail.

Quarreling voices rose
from the stern, a shout of pain and then silence, but these days Stoker didn't
seem to hear or care about fighting among his men. Giselle gave him enough
trouble all on her own. Now he was grinding his teeth, the muscles in his
cheeks as tight as fiddle strings.

"Young
love," said Robbie, following the direction of Hawkeye's gaze.

"That's one name
for it, I guess."

"She's a braw lassie
tae stan' up tae Sweet Mac Stoker, ye must leave her that."

Hawkeye flexed his
fingers one by one. "I ain't sure that I'd leave her much at all, Rab. But
I'll tell you this, watching her wrangle with Mac gives a man a new
appreciation for the easements of old age."

"Aye,"
Robbie sighed. "Better sore joints than stiff ones."

Neither of them
laughed; not only was the truth of it bittersweet, it was as close as they
would come to an agreement about Giselle Somerville.

Hawkeye studied her,
as he did whenever he could be sure that her attention was elsewhere. The skin across
her nose and cheeks was peeling and the long plait of hair lying over her
shoulder had gone almost white in the sun; her shirt hung loose to show her
throat and chest, pink and glistening with sweat. Giselle looked more like a
girl these days, nothing like the fine lady who had flown off the
Isis
.
The truth was, she looked like herself at seventeen, when he had first seen
her.

It was hard to believe
that it was so long ago. He had gone north because Cora missed Nathaniel and
was full of hazy fears for him, so far away in a place she knew nothing about,
in a tangle with the daughter of a titled Englishman and a mysterious French
lady. Cora sent him to bring Nathaniel home to Lake in the Clouds, with a rich
wife, if there was no other way to do it.

All these years later
Hawkeye wasn't sure what exactly had happened, except that Nathaniel had agreed
to leave Montréal without Giselle, and without much of a struggle. Had he grown
tired of the girl, or did she just refuse to leave her father's fine home for a
rough cabin in the endless forests? On the way south, glad to be shut of
Montréal, Hawkeye hadn't asked Nathaniel for an explanation, hadn't known how
to ask, and thought it best to leave the boy his privacy.

What Hawkeye did know
for sure was that he hadn't understood Giselle Somerville then and he didn't
understand her now. The strange, strong girl who had taken him by surprise in Montréal
had grown into a formidable woman, one who was smart enough to hide her
ironwood core behind smiles and lace fans, and driven enough to take Mac Stoker
to her bed if it served her purposes.

Hawkeye scanned the
horizon for the
Isis
, and was disappointed again. They lost sight of her
now and then, but it was more than twelve hours since he had last seen her
sails. It made him uneasy in his bones.

"Here's auld
Jemmy, wi' a belly fu' o' trouble," said Robbie, bringing Hawkeye out of
his daydreams.

The little man who
limped toward them swinging a bucket of tar was one of the few sailors willing to
give them the time of day. Now he nodded to them briskly and stopped,
scratching a mole on the end of his nose with a blackened fingernail.

"Wind's comin' up
again," he volunteered, tipping his face up and sniffing at the breeze so that
his whiskery cheeks twitched. "We'll be rollin' gunwale-under by sunset,
if the Tories don't get us first. Tories or sharks, mates, that's our lot.
Tories or sharks."

"Ye've been
through muny a storm," said Robbie. "And there ye stand, hale and
hearty."

"Aye, but mebbe
not for long." Jemmy squinted in Stoker's direction, ready to bolt if the
captain's attention should wander his way. He spat a high brown arc of tobacco
juice that cleared the rail neatly.

He hunched his
shoulders toward them as if he had a secret. "Two times I've run afoul of
the Tories, in these very waters. Once on the
Little Bess
out of
Plymouth--the
Casterbridge
sank us without so much as a by-your-leave
and skimmed what men could still swim off the water like cream off a milk
bucket."

Robbie glanced
uneasily at Hawkeye. "Aye, in the days before the war. But we're flying American
colors, man."

Jemmy coughed out a
laugh. "As if that would stop 'em. It was eighty-two when the
Little Bess
went down. Every one of us was American born, and they pressed us, all the
same. Didn't have enough of a navy of our own in those days to do anything
about it. Still don't. Not yet, at any rate."

He worked his jaw
thoughtfully. "It was more than a year until I could slip away from the
Casterbridge
.
Bad grub, that's what's wrong with them Tories. Cost me four pegs, so it
did." He bared what was left of his teeth to show them he was not
exaggerating.

"Jemmy, you lazy
bastard!" Stoker's shout brought the little man up sharp. "Be on your
way or I'll set Granny Stoker on you. You know she'd like nothing more than to
peel yer spotty arse."

The old sailor
shrugged. "Aye, Capting. On my way." He shambled off, wise enough not
to make excuses.

Stoker came over to
hunker down next to them, his hands dangling between his knees.

"You've got
shadows under your eyes," Hawkeye said. "Not getting enough
sleep?" There wasn't a body on board who didn't know how much he slept,
and didn't sleep. When Stoker's voice wasn't raised in an argument he was
bellowing like a stag in rut.

The scar around
Stoker's neck flamed red. "It's a smart mouth you've got, Bonner."

"Captain!"

Stoker raised his head
with a jerk. "For bloody Christ on the cross, what!"

It was Micah, one of
the younger sailors, a hard worker and keen-eyed. He pointed astern. "Sails,
sir!"

Stoker's expression
shifted suddenly. He got up and took his long glass from its loop on his belt;
when he lowered it again there was a thoughtful crease on either side of his
mouth.

"Trouble?"
asked Robbie.

He shrugged. "Don't
know yet. Micah! Keep an eye on her, and let me know when she raises her
colors."

The boy grinned.
"Aye, Captain."

Giselle still stood
alone at the rail, but Stoker hunkered down again.

Robbie shot him a
sideways glance. "The course o' true luv nivver ran smooth, so goes the
auld sayin'. Take heart, laddie."

"Sure and I've
had more than me share of your old sayings," Stoker snapped.

Hawkeye squinted into
the sails overhead. "We had a cat lost her tail in a door, once," he
said. "She was mighty jumpy after that, but I think you're worse,
Stoker."

"Jumpy, am I? And
why should I be any different, with the Tory navy thick as flies in these
waters and two old men wasting me time."

"You'll be well
paid for your time," said Hawkeye evenly. "I guess you'll survive another
week of our company to get the gold you've got coming to you."

"Gold."
Stoker spat the word. "Sure and you like to talk about it, but your
pockets look empty to me."

Robbie bristled, but
Hawkeye laughed softly. "You're right there. Nathaniel's got the coin, and
you'll keep up with the
Isis
if you want to claim it."

Stoker frowned. His
gaze skittered over to the rail and jerked away again when he saw the way Giselle
was watching him. With the simple weight of her stare she was willing him to do
her bidding. Cora would have called her fey, a woman who understood men better
than they understood themselves. Thinking of his wife, who had crossed these
waters to find a better life on the other side, a thought came to Hawkeye.

"She don't much
like the idea of Scotland, does she? I'll bet she ain't eager to head back to
Canada, either. Where's it to be, then? Ireland? France?"

A random shot, but it
found a target. Stoker jerked as if Hawkeye had laid hands on him.

"France!"
Robbie's head came up sharp. "Why wad Giselle want tae go tae France?"

"I never said she
did!" Stoker barked.

All three of them came
to their feet to stand in a triangle.

"The
Isis
is bound for Scotland," said Hawkeye. "That was our agreement, and
you'll see it through."

"Damn me if I'll
stand on me own deck to be ordered about like a bloody tar!"

Robbie clucked his
tongue. "Shame, man. Tae let the lass lead ye aroond by the pecker."

Stoker flushed red to
the roots of his hair and reached out with both hands to grab Robbie by the
shirt. Robbie sidestepped neatly and brought up an arm as hard as a war club to
cut him off.

Behind them, Giselle
said, "I hope this boyish behavior is simple high spirits, gentlemen."

Stoker's head snapped
around to her. "There you are, sweetings. These two are asking why you'd want
to go to France. What I want to know is, what you'll live on while you're
there."

Giselle pressed her
lips together, inclining her head toward Hawkeye.

Stoker laughed at her.
"Do you think he hasn't figured out that you stand there without a penny to
your name?"