Chapter Seven

Alex hesitated outside the sick bay. He heard the song from within and cocked his head to listen.

The Campbell lass had a lovely voice, clear and strong and sweet, and the familiar Scottish lullaby reminded him of a home that no longer existed. A sharp pang of loneliness struck him.

How could they have this gentle song in common? Her family and his? The Campbells had torn his country apart.

He did not like to admit that the Jacobites might have had something to do with that tearing apart. Poor leadership. Bad tactics. Too much confidence in French promises. Desertion by clans thought to be loyal. An arrogant prince who spoke only French.

And the greatest gallantry he’d ever seen.

All over in a few hours at Culloden Moor.

He shook his head. She was a Campbell, and Campbells had been responsible for so many of his country’s sorrows. They were duplicitous, untrustworthy, traitorous.

Bloody hell.

He opened the door. The Campbell woman was sitting beside the child. Meg’s eyes were closed, her hands no longer clenched in tight balls as she tried not to cry or show how much she hurt.

The singing stopped, but he saw the woman look at Meg with such tenderness, it hurt.

She was so concentrated on Meg, she seemed unaware of his presence. Her dress was limp and soiled. She apparently had taken some time to twist her hair into a severe knot at the back of her head, and now strands fell untidily around her face. There was nothing elegant or pretty about her, and yet something … touched him. Perhaps the raw longing in her face.

She’s a Campbell, he reminded himself. And a plain sparrow. Why then did something inside him respond to her?

She’s going to her wedding.

Her voice was strong and true. No fear in it. Or was she hiding it? Did she still fear him, afraid that he might take her virtue?

As if he would touch a Campbell.

A Campbell who sang like an angel.

“Miss Campbell.” Again, he deliberately ignored the courtesy title.

She jumped nearly a furlong despite his soft tone and whirled around to face him. Robin, he noted, was asleep in a chair across the room.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Hurting. She tries so hard not to show it.”

“She has had a lot of practice.”

“How long has she been with you?”

“More than a year.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“Find her a home. I thought—” Why in the bloody hell was he talking to the woman?

She cocked her head, just like that sparrow he’d envisioned. Her eyes were just as bright, although they weren’t dark. Bloody hell, but that blue green color was intriguing.

“You thought?” she prompted.

“There was a family in France willing to take them both.” For the life of him, he did not know why he was explaining anything to her. “But they showed up in the hold four days after we sailed.”

Her gaze seemed to bore through him. “You wanted to get rid of them?”

“They are better off with a family,” he said, amazed at the fact she turned that against him. Apparently he was damned if he found them a home, and damned if he didn’t because that meant he was abandoning them. Why, for God’s sake, did he care what she thought?

Yet her contemptuous look stung him. So did her gesture of turning her back to him as she sat down and gave all her attention to Meg. He was being dismissed by his own prisoner.

He found himself standing awkwardly without anything to say. He certainly was not going to defend himself to a Campbell. “We will take care of her now,” he said. “You can return to your cabin.”

“I would rather stay here,” she said.

“There is no place to rest.”

“I could not rest in a nest of vipers in any instance,” she said bitterly.

“You should know about vipers,” he retorted. “You’ve lived among them for many years.”

He saw from her eyes he’d struck a nerve.

“I do not abandon children,” she said.

“They were made orphans by Cumberland.”

“And you turned them into outlaws?”

“Better than dying.”

“Aye,” she said softly, surprising him. She lightly touched Meg’s face. “She is still warm. I do not want to leave her.”

There was a plea in her voice, the first he had heard from her. Until now she’d been all indignation and defiance.

“You will not use the children to get what you want,” he warned her, unwilling to surrender all his suspicion toward a Campbell.

“And what do I want, Captain?”

“To get to Barbados, I suppose. Or are you not eager for a wedding?”

“Of course I am,” she said, but Alex saw a moment’s doubt in her eyes. He wondered what the prospective husband saw in her. There were the eyes, of course. And the voice.

She was also outspoken and a nag. And she obviously did not know the place of a prisoner.

He told himself her marriage was no concern of his. “You may stay,” he said, asserting his authority, though he had no idea how he could have dragged her away without waking young Meg.

Her gaze settled on him. Her eyes were clear and yet unreadable. Bloody hell, but they were striking. He had never seen eyes quite that color before.

“You can stay,” he repeated, “but you will not leave this room without someone with you.”

“My thanks, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed.

The latter had been said with sarcasm. Did she have any idea as to his true identity? He could not allow that to happen. His sister and her husband might well suffer. Neil Forbes was believed a loyal king’s man. If it were known that he had helped his brother-in-law escape Scotland, his life would be forfeit.

His hesitation sparked something in her eyes. So it had been only a guess on her part. He could not make another mistake.

She slept on and off in the chair.

She couldn’t get the captain’s face out of her mind. She had thrown the “my lord” at him with impudence, nothing more. But the expression that flashed in his eyes confirmed she had struck a blow of some kind.

She had wondered at his speech, even the odd grace despite his limp. Now she was sure. He had once held a title. But which one?

It was obvious he was trying to keep it a secret. If she tried to discover his identity, would he feel it necessary to get rid of her? Still, she wanted to know. Had to know.

She thought about the man waiting for her. He had three children who needed a mother. She wondered whether he had blue eyes. Kind eyes or cold, hostile ones. Would he look at her blemish with distaste, or with indifference, as had the captain of the Ami?

Jenna looked at the lad, who had been so protective of Meg. They must know more than they had said. She would try the children first.

Then the crew.

And finally the captain. She decided that even as her stomach knotted with apprehension.

Alex tried to get some sleep. It had been more than twenty-four hours, and he needed to keep alert.

The bloody lullaby continued to run through his head.

So did blue green eyes.

The Campbell lass had courage. He would grant her that. She’d challenged him despite the uncertainty that crossed her face. Yet except for that one slip, she was quite adept at concealing her emotions. That was unusual for a woman. They usually wore their emotions on their sleeves.

She’d obviously had experience at not doing so.

He stood and roamed the cabin, ignoring the aching pain in his leg. It always grew worse when he had been on it all day. He sometimes used it beyond what he knew it could do, just to know it was there. He had come so bloody close to losing it.

He looked at the night sky beyond the wide window that graced the captain’s cabin. Clouds concealed the moon and stars. He was grateful for that. Still, he would not relax until they made Martinique.

Another day and they would reach the island and he could sell the Charlotte and rid himself of the troublesome prisoners. Then he could sail toward Brazil.

Forget the prisoners. Get some rest.

How long had it been since he had slept a night through, when he hadn’t had images pounding in his head and echoing in his heart of being cold and hungry, and worried sick about the orphans who had made the mistake of trusting him?

And now there was a new image haunting him: a woman with a sad, clear voice.

A Campbell.

She was nothing to him but a nuisance, and someone who could temporarily care for Meg. It was only fitting that she cared for one of England’s victims.

He clumped back to the wide bed, which was the one captain’s prerogative that he liked. His body was too tall for most of the bunks and even the hammocks used by the crew. He closed his eyes, though he suspected he wouldn’t sleep.

Jenna woke to the soft cry of a child.

Young Meg was feverish and thrashing. Robin apparently woke when she did, for he moved swiftly to the side of the cot.

“Meg?” he asked.

Jenna wished she had some snow, some ice cold water even. Something was needed to take down the fever. Instead, she poured warm water into a cup and offered it to Meg. Feverish eyes looked at her, the misery in them deep.

Rob looked up at her frantically.

“You had best fetch Hamish,” Jenna said. She wet a cloth and bathed Meg’s face. The child’s eyes met hers and seemed to plead. The dislike was gone. So was the defiance. There was only fear. It went straight to Jenna’s heart.

When Rob left, she poured some water on the cloth and lifted Meg’s shift and washed her body. It was far too thin. She knew by now the child had been a fugitive in the Highlands, but surely in the succeeding weeks she should have gained more weight.

One more mark against the ship’s captain. She was having increasing trouble trying to figure out the tangled relationship between the children, the captain, and the other members of the crew. Whenever she thought the captain might have at least a small part of a heart, a new piece of information would completely destroy that vein of hope.

She moved the poultice. The wound looked even angrier than before. At least it was draining a little. She thought that a good sign.

She covered Meg and went to the cabinet, searching for the bottle of laudanum. She also needed some hot water for a new poultice, but she wanted to wait until someone was in the cabin. She did not want to leave Meg alone.

After adding a little laudanum to a cup of water, she helped Meg balance it.

“I’m cold,” Meg complained.

“I know,” Jenna said softly. She started crooning. She didn’t know what else to do. It was another lullaby about bringing home a pony. She saw an answering light in Meg’s eyes.

“Da used to sing me that,” she said.

“What about your mother?”

“She said she was not much for frivolous things.”

“Music is not frivolous,” Jenna said.

Meg’s lips compressed, and Jenna realized she’d made a mistake. In Meg’s eyes, she had criticized a dead woman. A dead woman she knew nothing about. More than that, a woman whose death had been at least partly attributed to her.

“Tell me about her,” she said after a moment of resentful silence.

“She worked hard,” Meg said. “My da was a blacksmith who left with our laird to support the bonnie prince. Ma followed, taking me with her. She cooked and did laundry for the men.

“Da was killed, and then the English started looking for anyone who was with … the prince. We hid in the hills, but they just kept searching. We hid in one cave, then another. It was cold … so wet. She got sick.”

Meg closed her eyes. Was the laudanum working or did she just not want to answer more questions? Jenna scolded herself for asking them.

Jenna leaned back. She was tired. She had needs she’d tried to repress, but were now becoming desperate. For the first time, she needed a brief respite to her cabin. But she would not leave Meg.

The door opened and the large Hamish entered. He had a pail of steaming water with him. “The lass?”

“I do not like the way the wound looks,” Jenna said. “Was it part of a cannonball?”

“No, a splinter. It drove pieces of cloth into the wound. I tried to get it all out but …” He stopped and looked at her. “Ye need some rest, my lady.”

“The captain told me to stay here,” she said.

“I dinna need two patients,” Hamish said roughly, but his eyes were kind.

“Where’s Robin?” she asked.

“He went to fetch the captain. He would want to know about Meg.”

“He would?” The doubt in her voice was obvious.

Hamish ignored the question and bent over Meg, removing the poultice from the wound.

“I would have fixed a new one but there was no hot water.”

“There is now,” he said.

Jenna stood. “I’ll do it,” she said.

He nodded. “But as soon as the captain comes, I want ye to leave and get some rest.”

She was not going to argue, even though she was torn between staying with the lass who was far more child and vulnerable than she wanted anyone to know, and seeking the rest she desperately needed. She went over to the steaming water and mixed a potion, drenching a clean cloth with it.

She carried it over to Meg. “I hate to wake her. This is going to hurt.”

“I’ll do it,” Hamish said. He leaned over. “Lass?”

After a moment, Meg opened her eyes.

“I have to replace the poultice, Meg,” Hamish said.

For the briefest moment, apprehension filled Meg’s eyes. She obviously hadn’t been that invulnerable to pain after all. She had just kept it under tight control, too tight for a child. But now she was too tired, too weak, probably too afraid to fight it any longer. She looked at Jenna with eyes that seemed to reflect all the horrors in the world. “Will … you sing the song again?”

For a moment, Jenna could not do it. Her lips trembled too much, her throat was too choked.

Hamish looked at her with steady brown eyes and gave her a brief nod.

Jenna started the song again, hearing the tremor in her own voice. She wanted to reach out and take Meg’s hand in her own, but she did not think it would be welcome. The song would have to do for the moment. Meg fixed her gaze on her as Hamish put the steaming hot poultice on the wound, and she heard the child’s indrawn breath. She continued the song, realizing it had a haunting sadness it never had before.

Meg’s world had changed nearly two years ago. So had her own. They were both venturing into new places with only their pride and determination as weapons. But Meg was still a child. Jenna had choices.

She continued as Meg’s eyes closed again.

Jenna’s voice trailed off as she became aware of another presence. She had not heard anything. She’d been concentrating too strongly on her words. But suddenly she knew the captain had entered the room, though he said nothing.

She turned around.

He was close. Too close. It made him appear even taller and more imposing. His dark blue eyes were as curtained as before, and his jaw was set and a muscle flexed in his cheek.

“You sing well, my lady,” he said, surprising her both with the softness of the words and the compliment.

“It seems to comfort her,” she explained uncomfortably.

“So I see.” He studied her, and she saw every one of her imperfections in his eyes. Her arms were bare and the livid wine-colored birthmark that covered most of her right arm was open to his slow appraisal. He had seen it before, but she still felt marked.

“You look like the devil, though,” he said. “You may return to your cabin. One of my men will bring you some food.”

“Not much rest there,” she said wryly.

“You can use mine,” he said, seeming to comprehend the situation without needing an explanation. Blanche Carrefour was not a restful person.

She must have looked startled—and horrified—for he gave her a grin that was anything but warm. She had noticed how the scar turned up one side of his mouth in a perpetual half smile, but when the other side of his lips turned upward, the expression was derisive.

His eyes challenged her, too, as if he could see straight through to her soul and found the distaste in it for him. “Do not worry, lass. You are not to my taste, even if I would sink to bedding a Campbell. I have never been that desperate, nor will I be. You can use my quarters during the day and stay with Meg at night. I want someone rested to be with her. And do not suppose I am being sentimental. I simply do not want a Campbell expiring on me. It would be inconvenient … at this moment.” He stressed the last three words.

He was trying to frighten her.

He did not have to work hard at that. He did frighten her, even though she tried hard not to show it. She was only too familiar with the hard ways of men, their disregard of the feelings of others, particularly women.

She wasn’t sure she could believe him now, and the thought of sharing his cabin was terrifying in the extreme.

“I would rather use my own.”

“I care naught what you would rather, Miss Campbell. Rob, take her to my quarters. See that she has some food.”

She turned to look at Robin standing by the door, his eyes wider than usual, his boyish face creased with puzzlement. “Aye, sir,” he said, then blurted out, “Is Meg going to be all right?”

The question was to her, and the captain frowned. “We will not let anything happen to your Meg,” he said quietly. And unexpectedly.

Robin’s face cleared, as if words from the brigand had been those of the Almighty.

“This way, my lady,” he said.

She hesitated, still uncertain about the prospect of the captain’s cabin. But the boy was already halfway down the hall. In any case, she was totally at the mercy of Malfour in any location of the ship. From what she’d seen and heard, she doubted whether any man aboard would challenge him.

She leaned down and touched Meg gently, then followed young Robin out of the room.

The lullaby haunted Alex. So did the echo of the woman’s voice even after she left the room.

Damn her.

He did not want to be reminded of gentler years. Of family and home. Of a mother and father long gone. Of his own promising life.

He had once been an honorable man.

Now honor had no place in his life. ’Twas best to remember that.

He needed funds. He needed a great deal. He needed it for the children, to settle them safely. Then he needed enough to create a new life for himself, one in which he could bedevil the British. That had been the only thing that had kept him alive through those agonizing months of recovery.

If he had to ransom the woman to get where he wanted to be, then he would do that.

He just didn’t want to see those accusing eyes, or hear a voice that brought back too many memories and made him realize she was a person like any other. He had to regard her only as a Campbell. A thing to be despised.

Not a person with sorrows of her own.

But she had them. He’d heard them in her voice as she sang so longingly of children and ponies and gifts and safety and peace.

Why couldn’t she be haughty and arrogant and demanding and uncaring of Jacobite children?

Unwanted guilt niggled at him. She looked tired. Her eyes were red rimmed, and she must be hungry. Yet she hadn’t complained. That made him bloody angry.

He hoped she would stay in his cabin. He could sleep anywhere. In one of the hammocks if necessary. God knew he’d had far less comfortable resting places. And the bed he’d once enjoyed now seemed more a bed of thorns. He just damn well couldn’t sleep in it.

He went up on deck. Dawn was breaking. It was always his favorite time of day. The slow rising of the sun made all things seem possible. But it was a lie.

Family, children, honor, home, peace. No longer possible … for him.

Did the Campbell woman believe those things were no longer possible for her, either?

Hell, why did the Charlotte have to carry passengers?

Alex knew now he’d been lucky in the first captures. No women. Just sailors. Some of them not entirely displeased to leave an unhappy ship.

Why had he not followed his first instinct and left it alone? Meg would not be wounded and suffering. They would be on their way to Brazil, avoiding British shipping lanes. Now they might well encounter a British warship. He knew his guns would be no match for theirs. His guns were designed to intimidate unarmed merchantmen, not ships of the line.

Claude was at the wheel. “Bonjour, Captain. Our luck holds. No sign of sail.”

“Did you get some sleep?”

“Aye. Enough. You do not look as if you had any.”

Alex shrugged. “I like the dawn.”

“How is la petite?”

“Not well.”

“I am sorry to hear that. She is very brave.”

“Senseless is more like it,” Alex said.

“You do not fool me, Captain,” Claude said with a twinkle in his eyes. “You care more than you want anyone to know.”

Alex sighed. “She trusts me. That is a dangerous thing to do.”

“Non, I do not think so.”

“Then you are as senseless as she. I should have never taken that ship.”

“It had a rich cargo.”

“And more trouble than we need.”

“Not a man aboard would agree with that.”

“Go get some rest, Claude. I’ll spell you and use your quarters tonight.”

“You are the captain.”

“I gave my quarters to the woman caring for Meg.”

Claude raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. “You’re the captain,” he repeated. But something like amusement played in his eyes.

Alex gave him his most formidable frown.

Unfortunately, it did not seem to faze his second in command at all. He heard a chuckle as Claude ducked through the hatchway.