The Captain's Lady (17 page)

H
e was a beast. No other word would suit him. And Jamie cringed to see the fear in Marianne’s face as, right before his eyes, she realized she had run from the safety of her father’s house into the custody of her father’s enemy. Yet, after she regained her breath, only to succumb to violent weeping, he clenched his jaw, tightened his arms across his chest and stared out through the porthole to keep from taking her into his arms. Why had she not accepted the fact that they couldn’t be together? Foolish, wonderful girl. To think he’d once doubted the depth of her love.

He’d never before frightened a woman, and it grieved him deeply to cause this particular lady such pain. He was a Christian above all else, dedicated to serving his Lord even before the Patriot cause. That included treating women with respect and honor. He’d let no harm come to Marianne, but he must stay as far away from her as possible on this vessel.

He shouldn’t have told her where they were going. That had revealed everything. Now, if they were accosted by a British vessel, she’d have the tools to give them away. And even if he kept her below deck where she could not alert
them, his usefulness to the Glorious Cause had been destroyed forever. He could never return to England, for Bennington would doubtless have him drawn and quartered. Marianne’s actions had put an end to his spying. If he were alone, he would laugh out loud. God had granted his wish not to spy anymore.

How had she come aboard? Who helped her? How had the man on watch at the time failed to see she was not like the other women, despite her plain clothing?

As her sobs subsided, he ventured to look in her direction, steeling himself against the temptation to comfort her. There she sat, dabbing her lovely face with a linen handkerchief, staring unfocused at the bulkhead. Her cheeks had grown puffy, and her eyes still leaked copious tears, but her lips formed a firm line. Before she fully gained her emotional footing, he must uncover her accomplice in her mad scheme.

“Whom did you bribe to help you come aboard? My watchman?” Jamie had been too full of grief his first night on board to recall who’d performed that duty, a sure sign he’d slipped in his ability to rule his own ship. “One of the other women?”

She glared at him with chin lifted. Too late. He saw in her sapphire eyes he was now her enemy, and a familiar raw ache settled in his chest. But he must ferret out the information. Who among his crew could be persuaded to betray him this way? Would they also reveal the store of muskets in the hold if a British naval officer came aboard? At least Marianne didn’t know about that. Or did she?

“Jamie.” Aaron pounded on the door. “Jamie, may I come in?” The urgency in his voice only mildly alarmed Jamie. Aaron was a passenger. If the ship were about to be accosted, Saunders or the second mate would alert him. But
Aaron’s interruption might disarm Marianne into revealing her accomplice.

No.
Aaron
was
her accomplice. There could be no other explanation.

Jamie yanked open the door.
“You.”
Guilt wrote itself across Aaron’s face, and only the grace of God restrained Jamie from slamming his fist into his friend’s jaw. Emma peered around him, her pale blue eyes blinking. “What were you thinking, man?” He shoved past the two of them, suddenly needing to breathe some fresh air.

Ascending to the main deck, he first saw Brody, one of the newly married crewmen, standing at the gunwale. Brody grinned and touched his hat in an informal salute. A growl rumbled in Jamie’s throat, and he strode across the deck and up the steps to the quarterdeck. There Crane, another new groom, stood at the helm. At Jamie’s appearance, he also saluted. “How do, Cap’n?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Jamie ordered him away with a jerk of his thumb and gripped the wheel himself. Crane left, scratching his head, probably wondering over the captain’s ill temper. But suspicion crept into Jamie’s thoughts. Had they all known about Marianne? Clearly, Demetrius had discovered it, although he didn’t seem to know her identity. But what of the others? Had their wives said nothing to them?

“Saunders,” Jamie bellowed into the wind. In seconds, his first mate stood in front of him, calm curiosity in his eyes.

“Aye, sir.” Saunders touched his hat, as Brody had, in an informal salute, which until today had shown sufficient respect to satisfy Jamie. “Is everything all right?”

“No, everything is not all right.” Jamie stared at the distant horizon. “Did you know that we had an extra passenger, a woman, on board?”

Saunders drew back and scratched his bearded chin. “Why, no, sir. Just Mrs. Quince, my Molly, and the other three ladies, our wedded wives.” He tilted his head. “Are ye sayin’ we got a stowaway?”

Jamie narrowed his eyes and glared at him. He’d always trusted this man…until now. Now Jamie didn’t know whom to trust. “So you didn’t know about—” He stopped, realizing his near mistake. If the crew learned of Marianne’s title, he couldn’t predict what their responses might be. “Mr. Quince brought along one of his wife’s friends, though I’ve yet to determine why.” Indeed, Aaron had lumped Marianne’s entire family into one basket, despising them all. Why would he help her run away?

“He did?” Saunders shook his head. “Sorry, Cap’n Jamie. I should’ve been payin’ more attention when he and his bride come aboard that night. Too much confusion with that extra shipment of wool and all, but that’s no excuse.”

Jamie believed him. “Very well.” If Saunders didn’t know about Marianne, few other members of the crew would, either. But how had the other wives kept the secret of their extra companion from their husbands? A fresh wind swept over him, and he inhaled deeply. Then a picture of Marianne came unbidden to his mind. She’d been confined to the cabin below deck for the entire voyage. “The lady might appreciate—”

“Sail, ho,” cried the watchman in the crow’s nest high above the deck. “Flyin’ the Union Jack, Cap’n.”

Handing the wheel to Saunders, Jamie retrieved his telescope from his belt and extended it to view the oncoming vessel. A British forty-gun man-of-war was bearing down on them, flying over the waters like a pelican about to devour a fish.

Taking the helm again, Jamie frowned at Saunders. “Pass
the word among the crew. They know what to do. Mind what we’ve practiced.”

“Aye, sir.” Saunders started to leave, but turned back. “And don’t ye be worryin’ about the wives, Jamie. They all know what we’re about.”

His words jolted Jamie. The women knew their husbands were secret revolutionaries, yet they’d kept their own secret about Marianne. Now he truly had no idea of whom to trust.

This had been a bad plan from the beginning, leaving his crew to gad about London for these several months. How could he expect healthy, reputable men not to seek the company of decent ladies? And once they married, how could they keep from revealing their true loyalties to their wives? Yet the ship couldn’t have sailed back to America without repairs, which had taken far too long, leaving plenty of time for mischief and mischance. He should be thankful God had protected them all from something far more dangerous than marriages.

Lord, help us. Keep these English sailors from finding our cargo.
His instinctive prayer reminded him God had permitted the storm that damaged the mast, and the hull had been long overdue for a careening, something not available in East Florida. No good thing could have come from sailing without those repairs. A certain peace settled over and within him. God had let
all
of these things happen. He would see them through.

The only thing Jamie couldn’t reconcile with the Lord was the presence of a certain little aristocrat aboard his ship. And as the man-of-war came alongside, he realized that he’d not sent anyone to imprison her so she couldn’t give them away.

Finding her way back to the ladies’ cabin, Marianne sensed Quince and Emma close behind her. Were they fol
lowing to support her or to make certain she did nothing wrong? But what harm could she do to anyone aboard this ship? In the cabin, the other four women eyed her with more than a little interest.

“Well?” Molly, the matronly woman somewhere near Mama in age, gave her a merry smile. “Did you get your man settled down?” She threw back her head and laughed. “My, I thought I’d split a seam seein’ the cap’n so put out with you. Tell us, dearie…why, what are these tears?” She raised her arms and Marianne flew into her embrace, weeping against her shoulder for several moments.

“Oh, bother.” Marianne lifted her head and blew her nose on her wet handkerchief. “I thought I had finished crying.”

“Here, now.” Molly handed her a dry cloth. “What’s the matter with the cap’n? Wasn’t he glad to see you?” She propped her hands on her waist in indignation.

Shaking her head, Marianne continued to sniff. What could she say to these dear women? All they knew about her was her first name and that she had fled her disapproving father to follow Jamie. So far, Quince and Emma had kept her identity secret. In fact, Quince treated her far better as plain Marianne than he ever had when she was Lady Marianne. What a strange twist of events. Now these new friends loved her, while the man she loved turned his back on her. While the man she loved turned out to be a traitor to her father and his king.

A familiar crewman—Nancy’s husband—bustled down the passage. “All right, ladies,” Brody said. “This is it. This is what we told you about. Do you all remember what to do?”

“That we do, Mr. Brody.” Molly, who by reason of her age and strong personality had become the ladies’ resident matron, motioned them to come close. She gave Marianne
a long look, then turned to Quince. “Sir, does Miss Moberly know what to do?”

Quince wiped a hand across his mouth. “
Miss
Moberly, may I speak with you for a moment?” He tilted his head toward the companionway.

Marianne’s thoughts scrambled in a thousand different directions. “What’s happened? Are we in danger?” She followed him and Emma to a quiet corner not far from the cabin.

Quince gripped her upper arms gently and seized her gaze with dark, earnest eyes. “Lady Marianne, Mr. Brody’s alert means we’ve been accosted by a British naval vessel.”

She gasped. Had Papa sent someone to save her?

As if reading her thoughts, Quince gripped her more tightly. “You must stay with the ladies in the cabin and not make a sound.” A pinch of fear crossed his face. “You do realize, of course, that if you give us away, we’ll all hang—Jamie included, this very day—and this ship will be commandeered.”

Marianne swayed, but this time not from the ship’s motion. The lives of these traitors were in her hands.
Dear Lord, what shall I do?

“I am taking Emma to our cabin. As passengers, we do not expect to be troubled by the British.” Quince shook her gently. “Must we bind and muffle you and lock you in our closet?”

“No.” The word came out without a thought, but in truth, she had no idea what she would do if the British sailors came below and questioned her.

J
amie had learned from Lamech Folger, his uncle, mentor and East Florida partner, that full and friendly cooperation was the only way to appease these officious British captains. As the uniformed, thirtyish man climbed over the gunwale, Jamie smiled and tipped his broad-brimmed hat. “Welcome aboard, Captain. Jamie Templeton, at your service.”

Flanked by several armed officers and perhaps fifteen sailors, the red-haired man eyed Jamie up and down. “I am Captain Reading of the HMS
Pride
. I see you are flying the Union Jack and Lord Bennington’s flag.” He glanced toward the top of the mainmast. “However, in these uncertain times, such symbols might be a ploy. You will understand that it is my responsibility to make certain no arms or contraband are aboard your vessel.”

“Yes, sir, I do.” Jamie thought the man looked reasonable enough, but one officer behind him wore a sneer, and the sailors, armed with cudgels, glared around the ship. A twinge of nausea struck Jamie, and he prayed their captain would not decide to press members of the
Fair Winds’
crew
into service. “You will find a large volume of goods in our hold, sir. We sail to East Florida, where my business partner, Lord Bennington, expects to make a tidy profit among the Loyalists who are fleeing all that nonsense in the northern colonies.” Should he offer this man his choice of the goods as a bribe?

The captain’s left eyebrow flickered briefly. “We will search your vessel, sir, with your permission.”

Jamie covered his anger with a coughing chuckle. This treatment was one of the many reasons for the Revolution, this unreasonable searching of ships. “Of course. I would expect nothing less from His Majesty’s navy.” He gave a quick little nod to confirm his words. “This is how you keep us all safe. May I show you around?”

Reading’s eyes narrowed. “No, thank you, sir. My men know what to do.”

Despite his growing rage, Jamie managed another smile. “Very well, sir. I am your servant.”

Reading motioned to his men, and his three officers took several sailors each to search various parts of the ship, including below deck. The captain then glanced around the main deck. “We have lost several of our crew to unfortunate accidents, and require replacements. You may ask for volunteers or select them yourself. If you choose not to cooperate, I will make my own selections.”

Raw fear cut into Jamie’s chest. He would die for any of his men, but who else would die if he resisted this demand? And what of the ladies’ safety? “Sir, I have a letter from Lord Bennington, also signed by Captain Thomas Moberly, of the HMS
Dauntless.
These should exempt my crew from impressments.” Now he would learn just how powerful his former patron was.

After a brief, startled blink, Reading snorted. “You have
notable protectors, Captain Templeton. How shall I know the signatures are not forgeries?”

Jamie faked a lighthearted shrug. “I don’t know, sir. But if you’ll permit my first mate to fetch my papers…” He beckoned to Saunders, who always kept his head during these boardings.

“Very well.” Reading gave a curt nod.

Saunders scampered below deck and within minutes returned with a brown leather satchel. Striding close to the British captain, he gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Here ye go, sir.”

Leaning away with lips curled, the captain took the satchel. “That will be all.” He set it on a nearby crate and untied the strings, drawing out the life-saving documents. His eyebrows arched as he read through them. “Impressive, indeed. Yes, I recognize Lord Bennington’s seal.” He frowned as he kept reading. “So Bennington’s son has been made a captain. A good man, Thomas Moberly. But I see nothing here exempting your crew from impressments.”

His heart hammering almost out of his chest, Jamie considered his options. The men had practiced what to do in case of pirate attacks, but they would have little defense against a forty-gun ship with sailors who were trained for warfare. Yet every person on this sloop had been entrusted to his care, a fact that gave him no other choice. He leveled a solemn gaze upon the British captain. “Captain Reading, I am not prepared to part with any of my crew.”

Marianne was pleased to see Molly come to the cabin and take charge. After covering the single porthole, the five ladies huddled silently together in the locked, darkened room. Above them and in the companionway beyond the door, heavy footsteps thumped against the decks, while an
occasional clunk of wood against wood sounded through the walls. Marianne felt Nancy tremble beside her, and drew the slender young girl into her arms. “Shh. It will be all right.” Despite Jamie’s—Captain Templeton’s—betrayal, she knew him to be a competent captain. And of course the British captain would be reasonable and no doubt send them on their way once he had seen Papa’s letter.

For the briefest moment, Marianne considered whether she should break out of this cabin and confess everything to her countryman. But Quince’s words weighed heavy upon her heart. While Captain Templeton and even Quince might deserve to hang, she could not reconcile seeing these ladies’ husbands likewise punished. An image of their captain strung up on a gibbet flitted into her mind and cut deep into her.
Lord, forgive me, but I love him still.
Yet he was a traitor to all she held dear, and every word he had spoken to her had been a lie.

Sudden pounding on the door startled her, and beside her Nancy jumped. “Open up, or we’ll break down the door.”

More trembling and several quiet sobs shook the women around Marianne.

“Mind yourselves, ladies,” Molly whispered. “Remember what we’re to do.”

Marianne could hear footsteps shuffle across the dark room. A click of the bolt, another click of the latch, and Molly swung the door open.

A snarling sailor stuck a lantern inside, and his shadowed face took on a grotesque sneer. “Well, well, what have we here?” Behind him, two other sailors stuck their heads around the doorjamb, leering into the dark and making crude comments.

Molly tried to hold her place and block them from entering, but they shoved her aside.

“I’ll take this one.” The first sailor grabbed for Nancy, yanking her up from the cot. The other men laughed.

A bolt of rage and protectiveness flashed through Marianne. “How dare you?” She stood and dug her fingernails into the man’s bare hand. “Let her go.”

He yelped and then drew back his hand to strike Marianne.

“Stop!” An officer holding another lantern entered the low doorway.

The first sailor cursed and stepped back. “Aye, sir.” His wolflike growl sent a shudder down Marianne’s spine.

“What is this?” The officer’s face glowered in the shadowed cabin. “Who are you women?”

“Sir,” Molly said, “we are Christian ladies accompanying our husbands to East Florida.”

Like the first sailor, the officer sneered. “Ladies, indeed.”

“Yes, ladies, indeed.” Marianne pushed in front of Molly. “I am
Lady
Marianne Moberly, daughter of Lord Bennington, under whose flag this ship sails.” She heard the gasps around her and knew these gentlewomen would never regard her in the same way again. Yet she would still be their friend. Whatever lie she must tell, Lord forgive her, she would save them from these sailors, even if it also meant saving that scoundrel, Jamie Templeton.

The officer raised a questioning eyebrow and his mouth hung open for an instant. Marianne lifted her chin and gave him an imperious glare. He lowered his lantern and bent forward in a deep bow. “My lady, may I have the privilege of escorting you to the upper deck?”

Air.
The thought of it almost undid Marianne. But she managed to maintain her hauteur. “You may, my good sir, but only if these ladies are permitted to accompany me. I will not have my friends left to the
care
of your sailors.”

The man had the grace to look abashed. “Yes, my lady.”

He offered his arm, and she set her hand upon it, praying for wisdom to say the right thing to his superior. Praying for the strength not to look at her erstwhile love, now her nemesis. Was there some way she could alert the British captain that Templeton was a spy and might be carrying secrets to the rebelling colonists in Boston? Nothing came to mind, but she felt certain the Lord would show her exactly what to do.

Coming out into the daylight for the first time in over a week, Marianne winced and blinked, shading her eyes with both hands while the ocean breeze caressed her face and filled her lungs with salty air. She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked back to see Molly, her eyes filled with fear and hope, holding forth a much-mended black parasol.

“Thank you, Molly.” Marianne accepted the gift, offered perhaps to gain her favor in protecting Molly’s husband from being impressed. Marianne chided herself for such a suspicious thought. But the revelations of these past few hours had utterly destroyed her starry-eyed foolishness. She raised the parasol and found relief from the sun’s glare.

Surveying the scene, she noticed the officer who had escorted her on deck had moved toward his captain, a man of medium height who looked familiar. Beyond them, she saw the
Fair Winds
crew standing in a straight line, while several British sailors perused them as if searching for the right horse to buy. Or the right slave. The anger and fear in the Americans’ faces sent a troubled pang through her heart.
So this is the reality of impressments.
Marianne shuddered to think what it would be like to be torn from one’s friends and forced into an enemy’s service.

“Lady Marianne.” The captain strode toward her, a wide smile on his freckled face. “What a surprise to find you sailing—”

“Under my father’s flag?” She did not return his smile or offer her hand. “Good day, Captain Reading. It has been some time since my brother introduced us when you both received your commissions as lieutenants.” She lifted her chin and sniffed. “I shall write to him and describe this meeting.”

“Ah, yes, well.” Reading stiffened. “We are simply doing our duty to king and country, my lady.”

“Indeed. And when does that duty include stealing my father’s servants right off of his business partner’s ship?” The words came out unplanned, but now she could not give Templeton away without betraying the entire crew. “Do you not realize that this ship carries official mail to the governor of East Florida? Through an act of Parliament, that duty exempts its crew from impressments.” If she had not overheard Thomas discussing it with Papa, she never would have known of the law.

Reading tilted his head in a patronizing nod. “My lady, although your esteemed father is this captain’s patron, the ship is still an American vessel, not a British mail packet. The law does not apply in this case.”

Marianne answered his look with a glare while she considered his words. She would not lose her battle with this intractable man.

The British sailors now dragged away two men, one of whom must be married to Sally, for Marianne heard the girl sobbing behind her. The violence of the sailors toward the hapless men, one of whom was a sweet-faced boy she had seen in the hallway outside the ladies’ cabin, seemed entirely unwarranted in light of the two men’s cooperation. Perhaps they sought to sacrifice themselves for their fellows. As a British sailor lifted his club to strike, Sally wailed.

“Stop, this instant!” Marianne marched across the deck.
“How dare you? Release these men immediately, or you will regret it all your days.”

The sailors obeyed, but one had the audacity to leer at her before looking toward his captain. Marianne turned back to Captain Reading. “In the name of King George and Lord Bennington—” she modulated her voice into a lower register and used a cold, hard tone, as Papa did when giving orders
“—release them.”

The shock that swept across the men’s faces, both British and American, amused her. While of course she possessed no authority over these men, they had no idea how much or little influence she might actually wield with their superiors. As for Captain Templeton, he puckered a smile and winked away the glint in his eyes. His slight nod, like many that had secretly conveyed his feelings for her these past months, sent a tingle through her traitorous body.

“Captain Reading.” Marianne sauntered back toward him, thrown slightly off balance when a swell lifted the ship, but quickly regaining her footing. Another approving nod came from Captain Templeton, but she did not acknowledge it. “If you hope to advance any further in your naval career, I suggest you do not make me unhappy. It may take months, it may take years, but my father, the Admiralty and His Majesty’s Privy Council will hear of your treatment of the men who have been assigned the duty to protect me.”

Captain Reading clenched his jaw and glared at her for what seemed an eternity. At last, he shrugged and waved his men away from their captives, then swept off his bicorne and bent toward her in an exaggerated bow. “Your servant, my lady.” He spun around and barked orders at his crew to leave.

The British sailors clambered into their small boats, but Marianne would not let herself breathe until the last man had returned to His Majesty’s man-of-war.