Scattered Seeds (9 page)

Chapter 13

At first, Henry thought Antigua was nothing more than two low peaks obscured in cloud, but as the sun set and the brig drew closer to land, the island’s varied beauty awed him. Even at this great distance, he could see trees waving their sword-like leaves on the white beaches. Azure waters mirrored the hills and the many colors of the sky so precisely that it was difficult to tell which image was a reflection.

The island was unspoiled, peaceful . . . and at complete odds with his mood.

He longed to jump overboard and swim to the rainforest, where he could add his wails to the chorus of night creatures likely thriving amongst the trees, but the brig would anchor here for one night only, just long enough for the captain and crew to enjoy a day onshore and return with water casks. Except for Thompson, who was to be marooned here.

The captain permitted no passengers to disembark, and to prevent any from attempting to swim ashore, he anchored a mile away from the island. Reed proclaimed Antigua too dangerous for common folk anyway. The descendants of runaway slaves lived in the rainforest. They thought nothing of bashing in a man’s skull for sport.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” someone asked.

Henry flinched.

Mary’s ginger-haired bollocks smiled and turned away to admire the view.

Henry’s face burned, but civility forced him to answer. “Aye, it is.”

“I’m Donald.” The bollocks extended a hand.

Henry shook it, repulsed by the softness of non-laboring fingers. “Robert.”

“I know. Mary told me.”

His stomach turned to a hickory board. Was the lad trying to get himself thrown over the rail?

“Did she?”

“Yes. She did. A good girl, Mary. Shame about her father. I liked him.”

“He was a good man.”

Father joined them. “Stunning view, that.”

“Aye,” Donald said, “we were just discussing it.”

“Mary tells me ye’re a clerk,” Father said.

“I
was
a clerk, apprenticed to a barrister in the Lord Mayor’s Court, but no more.”

“I should think one would be hard-pressed to leave an apprenticeship as fine as that.”

Donald smiled weakly. “Indeed, but my father paid my fare to Philadelphia, so to Philadelphia I go.” He offered no further details, but Henry didn’t need them. Donald’s clothes marked him as disowned.

The three of them leaned over their elbows to admire the view in silence until Father rubbed his eyes. “I’m away to my bed, lads.”

Donald nodded politely as Father slipped away.

Henry prepared to follow him, but the young man wordlessly gripped his arm.

“Unhand me.”

“I would have a word with you, if I may.” Donald cast a darting glance toward the hatch, where Father disappeared down the steps.

Henry stiffened. If Donald even whispered Mary’s name, he would drop the bastard like a sack of soaked barley.

Donald tugged at his stained cravat and laughed nervously. “I can tell by your countenance that you are none too pleased with me.”

“Did they teach ye to read countenances in the Lord Mayor’s Court?”

“Unfortunately, no. I learned that much earlier, under my own roof. Calm down. You’ll find no cause for a fight with me. Indeed, there is no reason we cannot be friends.”

“I think there may be one very good reason why we canny be friends.” Henry instantly regretted his words. It felt odd to hint that Mary was a factor in anything.

Donald shook his head. “If you’ll hear me out, you’ll find that your assumptions border on lunacy. I can assure you that you are very, very wrong about me.” He looked again toward the hatch and lowered his voice. “I wish to help the two of you. Surely you know that Mary is in love with you.”

Henry’s heart lurched. What did Donald know of Mary’s feelings?

“How do ye know this?” he asked. “And why would ye tell me so?” Excitement grew as he considered that perhaps Mary sent Donald to speak for her. “Did she ask ye to speak wi’ me?”

“No, she did not. In fact, she would probably run me up the mast if she knew that I sought you out, but I cannot—will not—stand idly by and allow the two of you to part ways without telling each other how you feel.”

“I have no intention of parting ways wi’ her. My father and I promised James Patterson we would look oot for her.”

“Yes, but you see, she will not allow you to do that, because she fancies she’s in love with you, and she feels the need to spare you the burden of paying her way.”

Henry rubbed his sweaty palms on his breeches. “She told ye this? She told ye she loves me?”

Donald nodded. “One does not share a chamber pot with a woman and pick nits out of her hair for weeks without getting to know her well.”

Henry laughed, but he was strangely jealous of the couple’s odd intimacy.

“She told you she loves me?” he asked again. An odd flutter pricked his belly.

Donald asked, “Do you remember that first night on the brig, when you and your father sat with James Patterson while Mary sobbed in her berth?”

“Aye.”

“Do you know why she was crying?”

“Because she missed her dog.”

“No. The real reason Mary cried was because she felt guilty about concealing your identity and sentencing you to a voyage that risked your life. She fretted that she should have betrayed you—that doing so might have spared you a long and sickening journey. She did not help you out of concern. She helped you because she wanted you to stay on the brig with her. She chose her own selfish wants over what might have been the best thing for you.”

Henry’s alarm flared. “She told ye my name is nae Robert McAdams?”

“That is the only thing you gleaned from what I just told you? Of course, I know your name isn’t Robert McAdams. We all have secrets, and I have no intention of divulging yours.

“Now listen, you must know Mary’s story, for she will not tell you herself. Her father gave her no warning that they were emigrating. She woke up one morning, made his breakfast, and before the dishes were cleared away, he told her to pack what she could carry.

“James wasn’t lying, by the by; Mary did miss her dog, right enough, but her greatest sorrow was that she thought she’d never see you again, never get the chance to tell you how she feels about you.”

“Why did she ne’er tell me herself? I saw her e’ery Sabbath—e’ery one!—and all she did was gawk at the holes in my stockings and rub my nose in the fact that she earned a wage with her damnable spinning. Her dog showed me more affection than she e’er did.”

Donald shook his head. “Oh, you dear, simple boy, she was not looking at the holes in your clothes, she was admiring the muscles beneath them. And she wasn’t bragging about her earnings; she was trying to impress you—to point out that she would make a good wife!”

Henry moved to the rail and laid his head on his forearms. This was all too much to take in. “It is hard to believe this when she’s been so cold to me.” He felt Donald’s hand on his shoulder.

“She’s cold because she wants to turn you away from her. She believes your future is brighter without her, especially now that she must work off two indentures.”

Henry looked up at the early stars twinkling in the growing darkness. “I do nae know what to do.”

“I do.” Donald pulled a coin bag from his waistcoat. “I have enough for her father’s fare. She would never take it from me. If you can come up with her fare, then the two of you are free to go about your lives.”

Henry gawped at the coin bag, momentarily lost for words. “Why would ye do this for us?”

“Partly because Mary has been a good friend, but mostly because I know what it’s like to love someone you cannot have. Take it.” He thrust the bag against Henry’s stomach.

Henry took it. “I . . . I do nae know what to say.”

“Just say you’ll treat her well.”

“I will. Of course, I will.”

Both of them faced the island, where bonfires blazed in the hills.

Henry asked, “How do ye know what it’s like to love someone ye can ne’er have? Is it Mary ye love?”

“No.”

“Did your lover die?”

“No.”

“Forgive me. I should nae press ye about private matters.”

Before Donald cast his eyes downward, Henry saw tears in them. “Our fathers banished us to opposite ends of the world to keep us from each other. That is why I am on this brig.”

Henry shoved the coin bag back into Donald’s hand. “Are ye mad? Take this back. Use it, if not to feed yoursel’, then to find her.”

“Henry, I do not love a . . .” Donald sighed and searched Henry’s eyes. “I do not love a woman, Henry. I love another man.”

Henry took a large step backward. He likened the stories of men who preferred the company of other men to tales of banshees and witches. He stared at Donald, who looked so . . . normal.

“This is why your father disowned ye.”

Donald nodded. “He was counting on me to marry well in order to save our estate. I wanted to do as he wished. Truly, I did. But when the time came, I could not go through with it. I sent my own family into ruin, and my intended’s as well.”

Henry ran a hand through his hair, not knowing how to react. It could not be easy to make such an admission. “And your . . . man.” He didn’t know what to call Donald’s lover. “What happened to him?”

Donald swallowed hard. “I know not. In my naiveté, I thought if I explained myself to my father, he would show mercy, mayhap send me and Andrew away together. We’d have been penniless, but together.” He pulled his cravat aside. A slender white scar stretched across the width of his throat. “A farewell gift from my father, recompense for my honesty.”

Henry guessed his own father would handle such news differently. Father would love him no matter what.
“As our Father first loved us,”
he was known to say, “
that is how we love our wains.”

“That’s a nasty scar.” Henry didn’t know what else to say.

“It is nothing compared to the wounds I carry on the inside. To be called an abomination of nature and a sodomite by your own father, to see him coming at you with loathing in his eyes, and to have the only person who understands you ripped from your life . . . those are wounds never seen and never healed.”

“I’m so sorry, Donald.” It was no lie. The thought of two men together disgusted him, but he found their punishment extreme. The young man standing before him bore the expression of the abused. Henry felt great pity for him, and anger at the harsh treatment he’d received.

“Can ye ne’er go back to England, Donald?”

“I will . . . one day, though I am sure Andrew is gone. The last time I saw him, they were dragging him away in irons. I will hear his screams until I die.”

“They gave ye no idea where they were taking him?”

“No. Andrew’s father is a man of means. I heard him threaten to put Andrew on a convict ship.”

He smiled faintly before continuing. “I don’t profess to understand why, but helping you and Mary somehow eases my suffering. It is good that love shall win out, if not for me, then for friends. It shall have to be enough for now.”

“Naught should keep ye from the one ye love, Donald.” He was shocked to hear himself say it. “I am sorry, both for your predicament and for being at odds wi’ ye.”

“Do not let it trouble you. I have a plan to make them all pay. It will take me some time, but I will exact my revenge and find Andrew again. Mary was right about you, you know.” He looked aft. “The two of you could have the deck to yourselves, and I cannot imagine a more romantic setting than this.” He returned the coin bag to Henry. “Go, get that stubborn girl. Tell her how you feel, and don’t take no for an answer.”

Chapter 14

Henry tiptoed past his berth, a needless precaution; Father slept through anything. A cool breeze flowed down the aisle, but Henry sweated in spite of it.

Ahead, Donald’s bright face seemed to hover above an open book. He winked as Henry approached, then went back to reading.

Henry wiped his palms on his breeches and smoothed his shirtsleeves. He hadn’t been this nervous since the night in the graveyard. He’d survived that; he’d survive this. Mary was willful, but so was he, a trait inherited from his mother, according to Father.

Mary lay on a sack. She noticed him and closed her eyes.

He wouldn’t fall for it.

“Ye’re acting like a wain. Get up.” He sounded sterner than he felt.

She rolled onto her side. “I do nae feel well.”

“Mary, get up.” He nudged her foot. When that didn’t work, he flung the blanket off her, took her by the hand, and yanked her up to her knees.

She rocked there, her eyes wide, while Donald poked his nose deeper into his book.

Her voice went shrill. “What is the meaning of this, Henr— Robert McAdams?”

Several passengers sat up to glare at them.

“Keep your voice doon, folk are sleeping.”

“I was sleeping, too. Let me alone.”

“Ye were pretending to sleep. Now get up, ye’re coming wi’ me.”

“Nay.”

“Mary Patterson, I will have words wi’ ye in private if I have to carry ye up yon stairs. Ye can either walk nice and quiet-like, or ye can go screaming. Choice is yours.” He hoped she didn’t choose the latter, as he didn’t fancy causing a disturbance, especially since a stocky man two berths over looked concerned.

She scowled. “This is beyond sense. What is it ye want? Just tell me.”

“Come wi’ me. I’ll not tell ye here.”

A woman in the berth above Mary’s peered over the rail. “One or both of ye get oot. Decent folk are doon for the night.”

Mary looked at Donald, who flicked his head toward the open hatch. She pressed her lips into a taut line, and before Henry could say more, she was flouncing past the tables on her way to the hatch.

“Good luck,” Donald whispered, as Henry took a deep breath and followed her.

He found her at the starboard rail, where a gentle breeze stirred her hair. She appeared to admire the scenery, but clouds obscured the moon and stars, and there was nothing to see.

Henry regarded her for a moment before walking within an arm’s length of her. Her porcelain skin covered a dainty frame, but a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue lay beneath her delicate features. He considered the ways she could, and likely would, hurt him. One stride stood between him and that pain.

His courage wavered. If Donald lied, after tonight, Henry would be labeled an assailant. But it was too late now. When Henry McConnell committed to something, he meant to complete it. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

It was now or never.

He vaguely heard the water’s rhythmic laps against the brig’s hull as he took the final step that closed the gap between them.

“Mary.” He placed his hands on the railing to cage her. The heat rising off her back triggered a longing that rippled through his middle and stole his resolve. “I, uh . . .”

His body throbbed in perfect rhythm with his heart. He knew he should finish what he had to say, but desire robbed him of the words. He had one need only—to touch her.

She shivered, and he could hear her quick breaths. She leaned her head back, eyes closed. He smelled rosewater in her hair.

Ye feel it, too.

He lost all sense and nuzzled his face into her hair. “Mary,” he whispered a second time, his lips brushing against her ear.

She moaned softly, and it crazed him. He was out of control and delighting in the newness of the experience. John MacFarlane told him what a man and woman sometimes did, but he never expounded on
how
it happened. Henry always thought there was probably a method to it, but now as he pressed against Mary’s back, he realized it
just happened.
A man’s body took over his mind, and a woman’s body responded to the man’s. It required no thought to slide her hair aside, no planning to kiss her neck. It was simple, natural, and euphoric.

He never once considered making love to a woman before marriage, but tonight, propriety abandoned him. He wanted to take her then and there, but the man on watch coughed and reminded him they were not alone.

She turned, and the desperation in her eyes nearly knocked him down. “What do ye take me for, Henry? This is nae proper.” Her words were meant to stop him, but her tone was anything but admonishing.

Losing the battle for control of his actions, he ignored her question and kissed her forehead, her temple, and then her cheek.

Her knees failed her, and when she wilted, he slid his arms under hers, pulled her up, and pressed her against the bulwark.

“Henry, what has gotten—”

He cut off her words with a kiss.

For a moment, she squealed inside his mouth and drummed her fists against his chest. Then, she slid her hands inside his open shirt, melted into his embrace, and submitted to him.

When he pulled away from her, they were both breathless. Her eyes were wide and searching. “Henry, this canny be. I love Donald.”

“Do ye now?” He kissed her again.

She pretended to fume. “Aye, I do. Do ye not think me capable of turning a posh lad’s head, Henry McConnell?”

“I think ye quite skilled at turning any man’s head. Why, did I not see ye charm the first mate the day we sailed . . . as well as the clerk named Smythe . . . and ye turned mine, too, did ye not?”

Her expression softened. “Ye saw that? Me flirting wi’ the mate and his man, that is?”

“How could I miss it? Ye made quite a show.”

She offered a fleeting smile, then shook her head, as if to vanquish her pleasure in his jealousy. “My mind is settled on Donald. I know that must pain ye, but there it is.” She looked away.

“Will ye marry him?”

“Aye, when my indentures are served.”

Henry grinned widely. “Gonny be a crowded bed, methinks. Will you sleep next to Donald . . . or his man? Or mayhap ye’ll wedge yoursel’ in between?”

“What? I beg your . . . What are ye implying, Henry McConnell?”

Henry doubled over in laughter.

“What’s so funny?” She crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “He told ye. I’ll kill him stone dead.”

“Aye, he did, and no, ye will nae. He’s suffered enough.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, pulling her shoulders downward. “There it is, then, the secret’s oot. What good does it do us?” Her voice was flat, barely a whisper. “Forget what Donald told ye. Go on wi’ your life . . . wi’oot me.”

“Answer one question first.”

She looked at him, her eyes vacant. “What?”

“Let’s say I do as ye wish, that I leave ye behind in Philadelphia to sort oot your affairs. Will ye forget about me?
Can
ye forget about me?”

“I’m away back to my bed. I feel unwell. Ye have me standing oot here in the night air to catch my death.” She brushed past him, but he caught her arm and whirled her around to face him again.

“Answer me.”

“Nay.” Her chin quivered. She clutched her belly.

“Damn your eyes, Mary, answer me.”

She slapped his cheek. “Of course I could nae forget ye, ye foul-mouthed git! There, is that what ye wanted to hear?” She started to cry, and he embraced her. Her words were muffled against his chest. “How could I forget ye? I have loved ye my whole life.”

Her words closed up his throat. He lifted her chin and wiped away her tears. “Why did ye ne’er tell me?”

“I feared ye did nae feel the same.”

He laid a hand over his heart. “I do, Mary.”

“Then say it. Say the words I’ve longed to hear for as long as I can remember.”

“Mary Patterson, I love ye.”

She whimpered and leaned her forehead against his chin. “A lot of good it will do us. I have two indentures to serve.”

“One.”

She sniffled and looked at him. “What?”

“Ye only have one indenture to serve.” He patted his pocket, where Donald’s coins jingled. “I have enough for your father’s fare. As soon as we dock in Philadelphia, I will have the rest. I told ye, Mary, leave this to me.”

She settled her head against his chest, where the torc had been before he concealed it in their bundle. The gold would only be his for a week at most; after that, he would test a witch’s prophecy by selling it.

He stroked Mary’s hair, confident she was worth the risk.