Prize of My Heart (8 page)

“Taking back what rightfully belongs to you is not stealing.”

The captain’s eyes blazed angrily at her for challenging him, and now Lorena wondered whether he’d been referring to something closer to the heart than privateering. What then? What did he so passionately believe he was entitled to?

She was struck with the thought—not a
what
but a
who
.

Who, indeed?

Suddenly she found herself actually considering George’s warning.

From a distance, Temperance could be heard calling their names.

“Keep a goodly distance from Captain Talvis,” George insisted, “and allow him not the least familiarity.” His face puffed with anger, he departed without a farewell.

Lorena recoiled. Despite her hopes for a better outcome, she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief he’d soon be gone.

Temperance arrived with her good friend Mercy Larkin just as the Reverend Potter prepared to convey a blessing over the
Yankee Heart
.

“Bow your heads, ladies,” Lorena advised, grateful for a chance to hide the disquiet that followed every encounter with George. She felt shaken. Disappointment burned inside her to have missed Captain Talvis’s speech, but with Temperance watching, she forced her attention on the reverend’s booming voice.

“. . . and so we commend the
Yankee Heart
unto the hand of God. May He always send her a prosperous voyage and a safe return.”

“Amen,” the three women chorused aloud.

Lorena raised her head while across the assembly Captain Talvis smiled, then waved, beckoning her to join him. And there stood Drew at her father’s side. His face beamed with excitement.

“Look there,” Temperance bid, pointing. “Why, I believe it is you the captain calls for, Lorena. He wants you.”

The
Yankee Heart
towered over the surrounding buildings and sheds of the shipyard. A launching cradle held her upright, its slipway greased with tallow and soft soap to ease her descent into the water. Beneath the shadow of her hull, the spectators grew restless. Excitement filled the air.

With a steadying breath, Lorena took her first step down the grassy slope, hurrying to the front of the crowd to join the captain.

Brogan was now master of 880 register tons of the finest merchantman ever crafted. Decks outfitted with yellow pine, imported off the coast of Georgia. Frames of live oak, copper fastened throughout. Gun ports painted on her sides to deceive potential attackers. Even her stern was sheathed in specially imported red copper from the Boston-based Paul Revere silver and copper works.

Full of wonder, he asked himself what prize befitted such a fine lady merchantman. Did a cargo exist rich enough to fill her hold? Would she transport fine silks and brocades from the Orient? Gold dust and ivory from the West African coast? Bales of cotton and hogsheads of tobacco from the port of New Orleans?

Nay, he mused wistfully, nothing so elaborate as those. Nothing but a spirited towheaded lad, a treasure more precious than all the tea in China.

The
Yankee Heart
had yet to be fitted with her three masts or rigged with square sail. Still, she was magnificent in every respect, a wooden manifestation of his hopes and dreams, but no more so a vision than the one strolling toward him now.

There was a bold statement. Likening a woman to his precious ship. Ah, what matter? Any less praise would be an injustice, for here she came now in a silver gown of Empire fashion, dotted with tiny lavender flowers. The dropped shoulders and short puffy sleeves exposed her white throat and slender arms, of which his eyes could not drink their fill.

As she reached his side, Brogan harnessed his energies into playing the role of a gentleman shipmaster. He greeted Lorena with a formal bow, then directed her attention aloft to the
Yankee Heart
’s bow and the ladder she must scale in order to reach the main deck. Drew waited up there for her, looking down over the rails alongside several other very excited Duxboro boys and several of Huntley’s workers preparing for the launch.

He removed the bottle tucked under his arm and presented it to her. The champagne had been awarded him from a prize cargo. Brogan had saved it in the hopeful anticipation that one day this moment would arrive.

“You know what to do then, I presume?” He did not pause for her answer, but continued, “Tie the stem of the bottle to that short piece of halyard on the bow, and once the ropes have been cut and the ship takes to water, you let go of the bottle and say—”

“I know what to say, Captain. Far better than you, I daresay. You were not raised in a shipyard.”

He blinked at her impudence, then saw the twinkle in her eye and burst into a grin. Could it be? Was Miss Huntley flirting?

Brogan wished he did not feel the blood so warmly beneath his skin as he leaned forward to whisper, “I shall meet you as soon as I can get away. Good luck.”

He guided her to the ladder, holding it steady behind her as she made the climb up the
Yankee Heart
’s side, where Huntley’s men received her and helped her aboard. The bottle was tied, and Brogan watched as she stepped gingerly out onto the large spar extending out from the stem of his ship. Drew stood beside her, encouraging her on.

When Lorena was ready, she looked down at him and nodded.

The thrill of the moment rushed through him. Brogan gave the signal. The axes were swung, severing the ropes that held the weights and kept the props in place and the cradle from sliding. His stomach knotted in anticipation.

At first there was nothing but his racing heart. He kept his eye on Lorena and she on him, and even though people thronged about them, Brogan felt as though he were sharing this moment with her alone.

A great creaking arose from the
Yankee Heart
. Brogan sensed Lorena holding her breath along with him.

As the ship began to pull away, Lorena gripped the bottle’s stem and shouted, “I christen thee
Yankee Heart
!” She dropped the bottle and it went flying and then swung back against the bow with a spray of shattering glass and a shower of champagne. “Success to all who sail her!” Lorena cried out.

“Success to this ship!” the crowd shouted back.

The
Heart
gathered speed on her way down the incline into the Bluefish River. She hit the water with a mighty splash and the spectators erupted. They cheered. They tossed their hats in the air. People thronged about, congratulating him. Brogan searched, but Lorena had disappeared from off the bowsprit.

“Have you ever been to Russia, Captain?” Nathaniel Huntley asked once the numbers had begun to disband.

“Russia, sir?”

“Precisely, Captain. Russia. That is one of the places I’m considering sending my new fleet. Ladoga, Russia, to bring back Manila hemp and iron for the purpose of making our own ropes, tools, anchors, fittings, and the like. We shall discuss it in detail at a later time, once you’ve finished celebrating,” he promised, clapping Brogan soundly on the back.

Did Huntley think of nothing besides economics? And what was there to discuss? Brogan had already explained he had no interest in a partnership. Nay, something else entirely occupied his thoughts. Someone, rather. And as he scanned the faces before him, Brogan realized it would be several moments more before he could steal away to meet her.

A flash of white-gold curls caught his eye, and Brogan glanced down to find his beautiful young son had returned. The boy stared curiously at his privateersman’s coat. Having spent so much time searching above the crowd, he’d failed to appreciate what awaited beneath his nose. Brogan squatted before the boy and offered him his hand.

“Truce?” he asked. He longed to hold the lad as he remembered, to fill his arms with his precious child and give thanks for the breath that filled his tiny body. But three years had stolen all recognition, and if Brogan could not embrace his son, he would settle for a handshake.

At Drew’s worried frown, he explained, “You’ve proven yourself as skilled as David with a sling. I’d do well to call you friend and not enemy. So what do you say, Drew? Will you make peace with the giant?”

Drew narrowed his eyes in a scrutinizing stare, as if debating whether to trust Brogan or not. He crossed his arms. “I don’t shake hands with pirates.”

The words cut into Brogan’s heart. How he ached to call the lad Benjamin and pretend these three years had not been lost between them. But they had passed.

Drew bore not even a glimmer of recognition for the papa he’d once loved.

Brogan withdrew his hand. “Well then, I guess I am going to have to prove to you I am no pirate.”

“Aha, and what is the nature of this meeting?” Nathaniel Huntley arrived, smiling down on them. “A secret, hmm?”

Jabez Smith joined the group. “I believe, Mr. Huntley, the cap’n might be trying to recruit the little mite into joining his crew aboard the
Yankee Heart
. And what do ye say to that, sir? Do ye believe the boy hearty enough?”

“I should say so,” Huntley responded. “In fact, it is almost a pity the war is over. I am sure Drew would have given the enemy good and proper recompense.”

Brogan rose. “I was about to ask him if he’d like a tour of my ship and perhaps a short cruise once she is rigged. Would you like that, Drew?”

“May Lorena come with us?”

Brogan inwardly cringed. He knew all along this would not be easy. But this was not the time to wean the lad away from his mother figure, not when their own relationship was so very fragile. And yet their future together depended on his doing just that.

F
rom the opened doorway of the deserted carpentry shop, cawing gulls could be heard as they swooped in graceful circles over the bay. Lorena had told no one where she was going, so if Captain Talvis did not arrive soon, she would be forced to leave before her family began to wonder as to her whereabouts.

She turned to pace the depths of the interior. The afternoon sun streaked through the westward-facing windows with a lazy warmth that filled the shop, raising the smell of dust, wood shavings, and drying paint from a nearby corner where Drew’s toy ark sat under construction. In their spare moments, several of the carpenters, under the direction of the dockyard foreman, Edward Hicks, had been constructing a two-foot replica of Noah’s ark to go along with the carved animal pairs they had given the boy on his recent birthday.

She bent to admire it, but her thoughts would not be diverted.

How long had she been waiting? Twenty, thirty minutes? Plenty of time to reconsider the wisdom of a clandestine meeting with a man who, two short days ago, she’d regarded as an arrogant and unwelcome stranger.

And yet it had been her suggestion to meet here. And what had been the need when they could have just as effectively spoken on the outskirts of the launching crowd, in plain sight yet out of hearing?

Whatever possessed her to be so daring?

Lorena made a dash for the exit, only to be brought to an abrupt halt as Captain Talvis came striding into the shop.

“Captain, oh, I was beginning to think you might not manage to get away.”

“Were you about to leave? My apologies, Miss Huntley. I came as quickly as I could, which is the reason, I fear, for my hurried and ungainly entrance. I hope I haven’t startled you . . . again.”

“Certainly not.” With a shake of her head, Lorena dismissed his apology as unnecessary, but the captain’s steady gaze told her he’d heard the breathlessness in her voice.

“No?” There was mischief in his eyes, and a smile played at one corner of his mouth. “Dare I hope I’ve redeemed myself and now have your trust? Or are you simply playing the brave girl? This time we are most certainly alone, Miss Huntley, for when last I saw Drew, he was listening to one of Mr. Smith’s yarns. And I can assure you, Mr. Smith does not release a captive audience in quick time.”

He advanced with long strides, with the heavy clunk of his bootheels, his laughter echoing throughout the room, until all that separated them was mere inches, a thin passage of soundless summer air and a few floating dust motes.

Lorena found herself once again at eye level with his strong jaw.

She glanced up to meet his gaze. It got her hot with exasperation how he endeavored to best her in their encounters, always with a confidence to overshadow hers. Make no mistake, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe she was a match for the likes of a privateering war hero. No, what got her dander up was the little boy inside who enjoyed watching her fluster. Well, not this time. Lorena had plenty of experience with little boys, and she saw through their games.

“If you’ve lured me here simply to bait me again, I shall leave,” she announced.

He chuckled, eyes bright, and removed his hat. The heat and sunshine had dampened his brow, and his sandy hair clung to his forehead where the brim had been resting. She found his shaggy hairstyle to be more roguish than fashionable, and yet it seemed to complement him.

“Not at all,” he said. “I realize the inconvenience of meeting me privately, so I thank you for coming. The truth is, I have no excuse for my behavior in the shipyard except to blame my high spirits and an eagerness to make your acquaintance. As a lady, you were undeserving of my forwardness. For that, I beg your pardon. Also for any ill manners I may have shown the evening I dined in your home. Your identity took me by surprise, to say the least.”

He regarded her humbly. In his eyes shone a sweetness of expression.

“I accept your apology, Captain.” Lorena felt warmth in her cheeks. “As for myself, I am ashamed of the way I ran off. I was frightened. I thought—”

“You made the wise decision. I did not offer my name, and you had no idea what sort of man you were dealing with. I take full responsibility and pray Drew does not bear me any ill will. Perhaps you could help me in that respect. He is such a fine lad. It would please me greatly if we three could become friends.”

Lorena contemplated him a moment, surprised by his request. “How is it, Captain, that a famous privateersman, a man both feared and respected, displays such amazing tenderness towards a child? Most men do not concern themselves with little ones, finding them more nuisance than not. But not you, sir. Why, your face fairly glows whenever Drew is near. One minute I find you an arrogant fellow and the next quite surprisingly . . . sentimental.”

She watched him absorb this information, his expression grave, then thought better of herself and said, “Forgive me. I speak too personal.”

“Nay, I respect your honesty. May you always feel this free to share your opinion. Which makes me wonder myself how a refined young lady finds the courage to be outspoken. It seems we are like most people whose characters are more complicated than what first appears on the surface. It takes time to get to know the heart of the person within. And is that not what we are doing here? Getting to know one another? In which case, it would please me greatly if you’d call me Brogan.”

This pleased Lorena also. “Very well . . . Brogan.”

He brightened. “Then we can be . . . friends?”

“Indeed. The three of us.” There was gaiety in her voice and a lightness in her spirit. “You shall enjoy getting to know Drew. He’s a delightful child. A good boy . . . most of the time.”

The captain chuckled. “I’m sure I shall, and I look forward to a closer acquaintance with you, as well. Speaking of which, something has been puzzling me since our first meeting.” At her quizzical look, he asked, “For what reason does a beautiful young lady sit dozing in a shipyard before the dawn?”

Lorena had not been dozing so much as waiting upon the Lord. But how to explain her unease, as though she was being warned, when she did not understand the danger herself?

Instead, she told Brogan the tale of her cranberry tarts. How, as soon as she had finished baking them, she’d headed for the marsh and its cool breezes. She told him of the tarts’ disappearance, of how Drew, her father, and Temperance had gobbled them up for breakfast before the pastries had even had a chance to cool. And how, when only four remained, it had been necessary to make a new dessert.

“All that for me? Now I truly do feel the scoundrel.”

Reaching up, he surprised Lorena by skimming his knuckles down her cheek in a caress soft as a whisper, gentle and affectionate, with a look that thanked her for her troubles. He gazed into her eyes, holding her spellbound and causing their surroundings to fade, until there was nothing but the earnestness of his handsome expression and a sudden flutter of her heart.

His stare lingered. Perhaps propriety demanded she turn away, yet she could not. She stood transfixed, and it wasn’t until Brogan dropped his hand and stepped back, as though remembering himself, that Lorena was able to recover her voice.

She felt a necessity to lighten the mood with a smile. “I daresay, if it weren’t for my family’s gluttony, you may have had the opportunity to sample my cranberry tarts.”

“In fairness to your family, Miss Huntley, if you recall, I devoured your chocolate custards with equal piggishness.”

She laughed at his frankness. “I do. And, Brogan, please do call me Lorena.”

“Lorena,” he whispered flatteringly, while behind him another male voice called to her in a slightly whiny yet sharper pitched tone.

“Lorena!”

The interruption took them both unawares, and Brogan spun toward the intruder, placing himself before her as if to shield her with his body, though there was hardly need. Lorena knew George’s voice and stepped out from behind the captain.

“What is it, George? What’s the matter?”

She had her answer the instant she saw his face. His jealousy was evident. He made no reply, but eyed Brogan disapprovingly, absorbed in his own misplaced possessiveness.

Brogan stared stonily back. At length, he gave the shipwright a slight nod of greeting. “Mr. Louder.”

“Captain,” George returned. “I’ve come to escort Miss Huntley back to the house. Mrs. Culliford has a meal prepared and the family is gathering.”

How did he know to find her here? Lorena wondered, doubtful George spoke the truth. Oh, Mrs. Culliford was indeed preparing a celebratory meal, but Lorena did not expect it would be served this early. It unnerved her to think she had been followed, that George was spying on her.

“That won’t be necessary, George,” she said. “You may inform Mrs. Culliford I shall be along directly.”

“Aye, Mr. Louder, I am quite capable of escorting Miss Huntley myself,” Brogan said.

George stood resolute, disdain etched plainly on his thin, angular face and in the sharp glare of his dark eyes. “I am sure you are capable of a great number of things, sir, and given your reputation, a man used to taking what he wants. It is your familiarity with Miss Huntley which raises concern.”

“George!” Lorena rebuked.

“You distrust my character?” Brogan asked George coolly.

Lorena burned with embarrassment and silently willed the shipwright not to provoke Brogan further, but George dismissed the question with a sneer and in a manner more insulting than any answer he could have given. He turned his focus on her.

“I had always thought you a smart girl, Lorena,” George chided. “I gave you warning, and then no sooner do I find you here in a shocking dalliance with this flirtatious fellow.”

“Clearly, you do not approve of me, Mr. Louder.” Refusing to be ignored, Brogan advanced on the slighter man with an authority that caused George to retreat several paces. “However, if you have some grievance, I expect you should address it to me and not Miss Huntley.”

George retreated another step, then steadied himself and straightened his lace cravat. “I have come merely for the lady. I have nothing more to say to you.”

“And yet you have plenty to say behind my back, I hear.”

She should intervene. She should step between them and demand an end to this ridiculous quarrel, but curiosity held her tongue, and Lorena found herself listening with piqued interest. It seemed the direction of Brogan’s upset had turned to something other than George’s rude intrusion.

“Privateering is an unscrupulous business,” the shipwright announced, his guilt confirmed. “And a letter of marque does not make you any less a freebooter.”

Brogan placed himself in George’s face and snarled, “Then it was you who likened me to a pirate to Drew? Did you not tell him I was no more than a thief? Who are you to speak critically of me to others and especially to an impressionable young boy?”

George snickered, unaffected. “You don’t fool me, Captain Talvis. Here I find you trying to beguile an innocent girl, and you pretend to be angered over my comments to a child. Why such concern for Drew? You may be able to charm Lorena, but you cannot deceive me any sooner than you can catch a weasel asleep. In my opinion, you are no better than a pirate!”

Brogan’s jaw clenched. The cords in his neck bulged. “I don’t give a wooden cent for your opinion, Mr. Louder. Besides, you’d be surprised at how well I can catch a weasel.”

“The devil take you first,” George spat back.

For all George’s priggish ways, it took pluck to fling insults into the face of such a large and formidable foe. Pluck or ignorance, Lorena thought sadly, then started anxiously as, like a thread pulled taut, Brogan’s control snapped and he exploded with a fist to George’s angular jaw that sent the shipwright crashing into the wall.

Lorena shrieked in horror, and as Brogan advanced again, she stepped in between them. “Don’t you dare! Only yesterday you greeted each other in a house of God. Captain, I allow you are a passionate man whose emotions dwell close to the surface, but I do not condone fighting any more than I care for George’s contempt.”

Brogan glanced past her to sneer at the master shipwright as though he were something quite foul.

George stepped forward rubbing his jaw. He had provoked the argument with his harsh words, and Lorena turned her disapproval on him with a glare. “Whatever your personal views, George, privateering is an accepted practice in times of war. You judge Captain Talvis unfairly, and not as a matter of morality but because you are jealous of his association with me.”

“Do you not see, Lorena? He doesn’t care about Drew. He’s merely pretending in order to have the advantage with you.”

“Shut your foul trap,” Brogan growled. “You know nothing of what I feel.”

Lorena found her growing appreciation for Brogan blurred by confusion. To her, the severity of his emotion seemed irrational. Rage brewed beneath his rigid exterior when annoyance would have sufficed. What consequence was George’s prejudice and poorly concealed envy to a man who’d been hailed in the papers as a hero? To a man who had won the approval of Duxboro’s citizens and had just lately received their cheers and congratulations? And yet Brogan was vehement.

“What exactly are you feeling, Captain?” she challenged. It was as though being called a pirate to Drew had ignited such a rage within him, Brogan lost all control. “Am I correct in assuming there is more going on here than the fact that George happened upon us alone?”

Moving to the open doorway, she turned to flash the shipwright a cold stare. “Come, George. For your own sake and on behalf of my father, I feel a responsibility to see you removed before you insult his client further. In which case I do not know that I can trust Captain Talvis not to retaliate again.”

George made to hurry her out the door. “And so I’ve been trying to tell you, Lorena.”

“Wait.” Brogan eyed her, incredulous. “You defended me and yet . . . you are leaving . . . with
him
? None of what he says is true, Lorena. Don’t let this fool’s chatter sway you. We’ve done nothing here to be ashamed of.” He held out his hand to her. “Please, let me be the one to escort you.”