The call boy blew his whistle, giving the signal for the waiting crowd of colonials to come aboard. Though most of the men had come to the ship intending to acquire field hands, they strolled leisurely past the female convicts as if seriously disposed toward making a purchase, at least until they reached Morrisa, who had settled in a provocative stance near the mizzenmast. They stared agog at her overt display and seemed unable to turn away. Their wives and other townswomen passed her by, lifting their noses in obvious disdain, and devoted their consideration to more practical possibilities. A short, balding man gaped in slack-jawed awe at the harlot’s generous proportions, but when he made an attempt to question her, Morrisa waved him away in annoyance.
“Go ‘way, li’l toad,” she snapped. “I’m lookin’ for a real man ta buy me.”
The man’s face darkened to a mottled red as he glowered at her, but Morrisa drew her lips back in distaste and made a hissing sound as if she were a snake frightening off a predator. Highly offended, he stumbled back a few steps and straightened his coat with an angry jerk.
“They drown witches here, ye know!” he warned direly. Then he sniffed in sharp disfavor and stalked off to join another handful of men who were scrutinizing Shemaine and some of the younger women.
It was almost more than Shemaine could bear to have the settlers sizing her up like so much merchandise. For this one and that, she had to stand and submit to a careful inspection of her teeth, hands, and arms. Her polite answers elicited approving nods from the women, but the warming glint in the men’s eyes conveyed a more lurid imagination. The idea that she could be purchased merely to appease a prurient appetite was completely appalling, and she breathed a desperate plea that she would soon be bought by a kindly mistress who might patiently instruct her on the duties of a household servant.
“You women there!” James Harper called from the rail. “Step over here at once and give this man your attention!” He jerked a thumb to indicate a tall, dark-haired colonial who stood beside him. “His name is Gage Thornton, and he’s here in search of a nursemaid to care for his two-year-old son.”
A flurry of conjectures arose from the townspeople, and they gawked at the man as if he had suddenly grown two heads. Though Shemaine recognized him as the one who had kept to himself on the wharf, and the only one of the lot whom she had deemed young enough to offer some hope of fulfilling Annie’s wishes, she could not fathom the reason for the amount of attention he was receiving.
Shemaine gave the tiny woman a gentle shove to encourage her. “Hurry, Annie! This may be your only chance!”
Annie was eager to comply and wasted no time in her attempt to be at the vanguard of those who surged forward. It was apparent from the enthusiasm of the other females that they, too, wanted the position Mr. Thornton offered. Young and old alike shoved and clawed their way toward him, for without a doubt the duties of nursemaid were greatly desired above those of a scullery maid, a field hand or the like.
“Remember you are ladies,” Harper cautioned, wondering if he would soon have to quell the ruckus.
Shemaine was the only woman who refrained from joining the melee, but a deepening curiosity began to take root as she regarded the man. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, as if he had left some important task behind to make his way to the ship, yet his tense frown and rigid jaw strongly hinted of his distaste for the errand he was on, especially since it seemed likely he would be caught in the midst of an eye-gouging fray. Grimy fingers clung to the homespun shirt and hide breeches that covered the man’s frame, while some women, with admiring oos and ahhs, were bold enough to stroke the torpid bulge casually defined by the clinging deerskin.
“Ladies!” Harper chided testily. “Hands off the buyer, please!”
“Awwh, mate,” a snaggletoothed doxy grumbled in exaggerated disappointment. “He’s the finest bloke we’ve seen in a goodly time, that he is! ‘Sides, we can’t sees where a li’l lovin’ fondle would hurt the bloke none. Saints alive! We needs it more’n him!”
Three months sharing the same cell with these women had not been nearly enough time to dull Shemaine’s sense of propriety. Acutely embarrassed for her gender, she also sensed the colonial’s annoyance as he briefly lifted his gaze skyward. If he had sudden regrets about coming aboard the London Pride or, by chance, was silently pleading for intervention from above, it was much too late for either. Among her companions he remained the center of attention, and with good reason, Shemaine had to admit.
In a face that was intensely handsome and tanned golden by the sun, his eyes gleamed like warm brown crystals shot through with shards of amber. Shadowed by brooding, well-defined brows, they were darkly lashed and wonderfully translucent. His nose was thin and sculptured with a subtle, aristocratic curve that any noble Grecian might have envied. His cheekbones would have been equally coveted, for they were leanly fleshed and pleasantly prominent. Devoid of a beard, the jaw and chin were crisply wrought beneath bronzed skin. It was entirely a man’s face and no less the torso beneath it.
He stood nearly a head taller than the stockier Mr. Harper, and though he was neither massively built nor one of great overwhelming brawn, his wide shoulders were sleekly buttressed by a tautly muscled chest that tapered to a trim waist and narrow hips. If the iron-thewed arms were any indication, then the rest of him had to be as hard as tempered steel.
The settler’s expression grew pained as his eyes slowly scanned the women who stood around him. When Morrisa elbowed her way toward him, rudely displacing another with a sharp nudge of her hip, his dark eyebrows came together with the intensity of a thunderclap. He didn’t seem the least bit intrigued by the transparency of her sagging blouse, only annoyed by her impertinence.
“Ain’t ye a handsome bloke,” the strumpet cooed. Coyly tracing a finger along his forearm, she smiled up at him. “Me name’s Morrisa Hatcher, gov’na, an’ I’d be o’erwhelmed with delight ta tend yer chit.”
Gage Thornton was now convinced that he had come on a fool’s errand. Only a short time ago he had been resolved to ignore the inevitable brashness of the female prisoners on the slim chance that among them he might find one who would meet his qualifications, but he was quickly losing patience with this whole preposterous idea of his. How could he, even in his wildest imagination, have ever hoped to obtain from such an unlikely source so rare an acquisition as he had mentally conjured? Perhaps his desperation had surpassed even the degree he had realized it had reached. He was determined to accept nothing less than his ideal, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that the kind of woman he was looking for wasn’t to be found aboard a convict ship.
“I have different qualifications in mind than the ones you generously display, Miss Hatcher. I’m afraid you do not suit my purposes.”
Morrisa nodded knowingly as she jeered, “Afraid o’ yer wife, are ye?”
Gage felt his vitals slowly twist with indignation. This woman had no idea, of course, what he had gone through since Victoria’s death, and certainly no stormy retort would enlighten her. “Your pardon,” he replied succinctly. “My wife was killed in an accident a year ago. Were she alive today, I assure you I wouldn’t be on this damn fool errand.”
Timidly Annie stepped forward to tug at the man’s sleeve. “Me name’s Annie Carver, sir. Me own babe was sold soon after I boarded the ship, so ‘tis me earnest wish ta have a wee one ta care for. I can promise ye I’d cherish yer son as me very own, sir.” She blushed in sudden confusion and wrung her hands as she added, “That is, if ye’d be o’ a mind ta lay out the coins ta buy me.”
Gage’s indomitable gaze softened somewhat as he looked down at the small, plain-faced woman, but her garbled speech bespoke her lack of schooling. “I was hoping to find a woman who could teach my son to read and write in years to come. Is it possible that you can instruct him?”
“Blimey no, gov’na!” Annie gasped, confounded by the requirement. Deeply disappointed, she was about to turn away when a sudden thought struck. Facing him again with an eager smile, she informed him, “But I knows one what can! She’s a liedy, ta be sure, sir.”
“A lady?” Gage was clearly dubious now that he had seen the greater share of women. “Here on a convict ship?”
“Aye, sir!” Annie’s answer was emphatic. “M’liedy knows readin’ an’ writin’ an’ can even do sums in her head. I seen her do it, sir.”
“Ninety years old, no doubt,” Gage scoffed. He couldn’t waste his funds on a woman who would probably fall dead five minutes after leaving the ship. Old arguments surfaced to cast his expectations into the realm of the absurd, stripping away his confidence and nullifying his hopes. Certainly no gentle-bred woman would have committed such a grievous crime to warrant being sent to the colonies on a convict ship, unless of course she had been thrown into debtor’s prison. Even then, he had grave doubts that he could afford her. He had other commitments which negated his ability to pay off such encumbrances.
A smug smile twitched at the corners of Annie’s lips. “Nay, sir! A young liedy! An’ a comely one at that, sir.”
“Where is this marvel?” Gage asked blandly. He was afraid Annie didn’t fully comprehend the meaning of the word lady, for he had neither seen nor heard any similarities since boarding the Pride.
Turning, Annie motioned for her companions to move aside as she searched for her friend. When a path had opened, she thrust out a thin arm to point to a lone figure sitting on the hatch cover. “That’s ‘er, gov’na! Shemaine O’Hearn, she be!”
Shemaine became instantly aware of the attention she had gained and the strength of those startlingly beautiful brown eyes as they settled on her in amazement. She could entertain no uncertainty about whether or not she had piqued the stranger’s interest, for he was totally engrossed in looking her over.
Gage Thornton had worked too hard for everything he now owned to be fooled into believing his goal could be met so painlessly. This young woman was uncommonly fetching, a possible prize to be sure, but he was leery of some hidden flaw.
He leaned aside to question Annie. “A lady, you say?” At her affirmative nod, he asked the obvious. “But why is she here? What offense did she commit that justified her being sent to these shores on a prison ship?”
Annie lowered her voice to a whisper. “A thieftaker snatched m’liedy whilst her parents were away an’ wouldn’t let her go an’ fetch people what knew her, so ye see, sir, there weren’t none ta say the bloke nay when he swore she were the one what stole another liedy’s jewels.”
Gage was hardly convinced, but his reservations were not enough to diminish his interest. Even with her cheeks smudged with grime and her hair wildly snarled about her thin shoulders and down her back, Shemaine’s beauty was unmistakable. Her face seemed delicately wrought, as if some artist had painted an image of a dream and brought it to life with an enchanted kiss. Her breeding, he strongly suspected, was thoroughly Irish, for no other race seemed quite so naturally favored with combinations of flaming red hair, sparkling green eyes and creamy fair skin. Despite the rags that adorned her, her graceful bearing gave undeniable evidence of her refinement, for she held herself with a regal air, her chin slightly elevated, her eyes meeting his directly, as if she suffered no qualms about being his equal.
Gage marveled at the unusual tumult inside of him and could only wonder what excited him more, the discovery of a girl who seemed to fulfill his every requirement for a nursemaid or the other, unspoken purpose which he had not dared hope to satisfy. If he did acquire her, his future intentions would probably astound friend and foe alike. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time he had gone against proper decorum to carve out a definite direction for his life.
Mentally Gage hauled back on the reins of his racing thoughts and, assuming a casualness he did not particularly feel, pointed the girl out to the bosun. “Mr. Harper, I’d like to make inquiries about that prisoner over there.”
James Harper craned his neck to see which of the women had interested the man, just as an aging crone stepped in front of Shemaine. Harper bade the elder forward, mentally questioning the man’s taste and good sense, but Gage negated the summons with an impatient slash of a hand. Stepping to a place where he could command Shemaine’s attention directly, he bade her to come forward with a single beckoning motion.
Conscious of those sparkling brown orbs feeding on her every movement, Shemaine rose from the hatch and slipped through the press of women whose troubled frowns openly conveyed their envy and dejection. Her progress went unhindered, however, until Morrisa blocked her path.
“If’n I were ye, dearie, I’d be a mite cautious o’ goin’ off with this here Thornton gent. Ye sees, Sh’maine, I ain’t seen such a handsome bloke in all me born days, an’ I wants him for meself. An’ if’n ye keeps me from havin’ him, I’ll not be takin’ it too kindly. For sure, I’ll be wantin’ ta slice ye up good an’ proper.”
Shemaine was amazed that Morrisa still sought to intimidate her. It seemed by now that even a half-wit would have realized she was too obstinate to be moved by threats. “And if I were you, Morrisa,” she gritted back through a tight smile, “I’d consider the mayhem the man might heap upon your hide if you manage to harm a servant of his, especially one he’s paid good money for.”
“I’ll come after ye, Sh’maine, mark me words. An’ when I finds ye, I’ll make ye sorry ye didn’t heeds me warnin’. This here bloke won’t wants ye after I gets through with ye.”
The visual daggers that pierced the strumpet belied the softness of Shemaine’s words. “I hope you’ll not be too surprised, Morrisa, if I let Mr. Thornton know you’ve threatened to do me harm.”
Morrisa snarled in exasperation as Shemaine brushed past her. Her failed attempts to see the bogtrotter killed or, at the very least, seriously maimed were even more grievous now, when it was evident the redhead had attracted the best of the lot. A scarred face would have certainly discouraged the handsome bloke from wanting the chit.
James Harper hadn’t bothered to glance up as Shemaine halted beside them. He had grown impatient with all the fuss over the settler and, like Potts, was anxious to conclude the sale so he could enjoy his liberty on shore, for he had a fair thirst building for a large tankard of ale. Checking the lists, he questioned brusquely, “Your name?”
“Shemaine O’Hearn.”
His head snapped up in surprise at the velvety reply. The name conjured up different images of a slender, red-haired beauty he had both glimpsed from afar and ardently admired at close range. If there was one prisoner he was loath to see sold to another man, it was this girl who had aroused the hopes and imagination of many a sailor aboard the London Pride. Even Captain Fitch had been smitten, and only the most discreet members of the crew knew his wife would soon have valid reasons to be envious of the maid. Ere long, her husband would settle the girl in a nearby house and make her his mistress. It was not an arrangement Harper enjoyed making for his superior, but he simply had no choice in the matter.
He spoke in a hushed tone to the stranger. “I fear you’d not be content with this one, sir,” he advised, having been instructed by Captain Fitch to discourage all serious buyers. “She has a sharp tongue which can lay a man open with a deft stroke. Ask the captain and his missus if you doubt what I say.”
Having overheard the warning, Shemaine fixed Harper with an incredulous stare, wondering why he should be so callous as to distort the details of that specific day when he had assembled the prisoners on deck to witness the scourging of Annie Carver. They had been forced to watch the cat-o-nine rip open the small woman’s back and were warned as the whip fell that similar infractions would result in like discipline. Their confused and questioning murmurs had turned rapidly to muttering indignation, for they had known only too well what had caused Annie’s attempt to kill herself. One by one they had faced the quarterdeck where the captain had stood. Shemaine vividly recalled the contempt that had risen like sour gall in her throat when her own gaze had settled on the captain standing stoically beside his gloating wife. With as much passion as her Irish father had ever thought of venting, she had climbed atop the hatch cover and harshly berated the couple for their barbarous treatment of Annie.
Now, with considerably less venom than she had exhibited three months before, Shemaine questioned the bosun. “Will you give me no chance to explain, Mr. Harper?”
“Did I not tell the truth?” he queried, growing distressed because in the process of obeying orders he could turn her completely against him He was no more partial to the idea of letting her go off with this man than he was to the captain’s claiming her, but what could he do?
“You accused me rightly, sir,” Shemaine admitted brittlely, lifting her chin as she met his troubled stare. “But there was much more to the incident than you infer. Mrs. Fitch’s crimes against a grieving mother were tantamount to whipping a widow for mourning the death of her husband. Her only interest in keeping Annie alive was purely mercenary, but you, sir . . . could you not understand Annie’s depth of despair when she tried to take her own life? Or are you so completely bereft of compassion that you cannot comprehend the sorrow of a young mother when she is robbed of her child? Or did you, indeed, see the need for her to be further punished by a flogging?”
“I could not disobey my superiors,” Harper argued. “Nor was it my place to debate the matter with them.”
“So, by your silence you consented to the whipping,” Shemaine chided softly. “How chivalrous you are.”
Harper blushed profusely, realizing her arguments had uprooted him from his firm stance. Her persuasive reasoning would no doubt sway the colonist in her favor. In hopes of dashing any idea of a gallant spirit, he sought to justify his claims. “ ‘Twas certainly not your place to accuse the captain or his wife and encourage the other prisoners to revolt!”
“Revolt?” Shemaine laughed in rampant disbelief. “They merely voiced their objections. Believe me, sir, revolt was not within their capability, not when they were half starved and weighed down with so much iron they could hardly move!”
“The bosun’s right, gov’na,” Morrisa interrupted, shouldering others aside. “That Irish tart gots a spitefully mean temper, she does. Laid me low more’n a few times, she did, without me e’er knowin’ what set her off.”
“Ye liar!” Annie shrieked. Catching hold of Morrisa’s arm, she swung her around and then let go, sending the harlot reeling haphazardly into the churning body of women.
There had been times during the voyage when Annie’s temper had completely amazed Shemaine, and the present moment was no exception. The woman had seemed like such a retiring little mouse at the onset of the voyage, but since that fateful day of her whipping, Annie had grown bolder, as if she had made a silent pledge to herself to reap vengeance on those who had abused her and to repay Shemaine for everything she had suffered after coming to her defense. To be sure, Annie had demonstrated her gratitude far more than Shemaine had ever expected from anyone or, for that matter, had ever thought her deed warranted.
It was Annie who returned to shake a dirty finger beneath the noble nose of Gage Thornton. “Whipped by order o’ the cap’n’s missus, I was, but m’liedy called her a mean an’ heartless shrew—”
“Aye! An’ Sh’maine had the lot o’ us agreein’ with her!” the snaggletoothed crone interjected. “Even chained, we were set ta break the bilboes an’ waylay the crew ‘til the cap’n agreed ta stop the floggin’.”
Annie persisted in her defense. “An’ we were bent on protestin’ m’liedy’s stay in the cable locker, too, but Sh’maine told us ta take care o’ our own hides. She vowed ta show Mrs. Fitch the true cut o’ her jib an’ said she’d come out no worse for wear. . . .”
Shemaine groaned inwardly, convinced that her friend was far too vocal about her fleeting moment of folly. She had lost her temper, nothing more.
“ ‘Twas only the cap’n reducin’ her stay ta four days ‘stead o’ four weeks what saved her skin,” Annie added.
In all actuality, Annie’s discourse had had little effect on Gage Thornton. He had made up his mind some moments earlier, during the argument between Harper and the girl. In protesting the bosun’s accusations, she had readily confirmed her intelligence and schooling. Gage was delighted that she met his requirements so completely. The fact that she did allowed him to avoid a conflict within himself, for he really didn’t want to deal with the dilemma of wanting her irregardless her merits.
Still, he could not let himself appear overeager when he had to lay out a significant sum of money. He had to be careful with the coins he had earned, at least until he finished building the ship he had designed and could find a buyer for it. Though he had every intention of becoming a rich man someday, he was by no means one yet. Having been denied any right to his father’s fortune because of a rift that had sprung up between them, he had come to the colonies a veritable pauper. It had only been by a like amount of wit and grit that he had managed to succeed as well as he had. In truth, if he could somehow manage to give up his dream of building ships, the furniture that he and his four employees made in his cabinet shop would provide him with a goodly income, but there lay the crux of the difficulty. How could one give up a lifelong ambition?
“You don’t mind if I have a closer look at the girl, do you, Mr. Harper?” Gage raised an eyebrow in cynical wonder, half expecting the bosun to deny his request.
Harper scowled sharply. The man’s persistence grated on his temper. “ ‘Twill do you no good.”
“Why not?” Gage asked curtly. “If I’m willing to take a chance on the girl’s disposition, what else might prevent me from buying her?”
At the seaman’s taciturn frown and rigid shrug, Gage pointedly dismissed him and moved beyond Annie to where Shemaine stood. She was not the cleanest creature he had ever seen or, for that matter, even smelled, but the fiery lights that flashed in those dark green orbs amused him. And that meant a great deal to him. If truth be known, he had almost forgotten how to laugh since the death of his wife.
“The girl looks half starved,” Gage commented, giving Harper a challenging stare. He had heard rumors of privation aboard convict ships, and though their captains were wont to disavow such tales as gross exaggerations, the deplorable condition of the felons aboard this vessel seemed to bear out such unfavorable reports.
Harper ground his teeth in growing vexation. No matter how strenuously he had objected to the scarcity of victuals for the prisoners, the fact that this settler made reference to the starvation only served to heighten his irritation, for he was sure this interloper was trying to instigate a quarrel. “ ‘Tis no concern of yours what the girl’s present state may be, Mr. Thornton. I’ve told you before, I cannot sell her to you.”
“She’ll fatten up right nicely, gov’na,” Annie encouraged Gage impetuously as she came to Shemaine’s side. “If’n ye be o’ a mind ta give her a few good vittles, it won’t take her no time at all.”
“Hush, Annie!” The emerald eyes flashed an angry reproof. “I’m not a sow you’re selling.”
“Can you cook?” Gage asked.
Annie bobbed her head and hastily replied in her friend’s stead. “O’ course, she can, gov’na!”
“Will you not shush?” Shemaine whispered furiously. “You’re bound to get me into trouble!”
Gage was certain he understood the drift of the admonition, but questioned Shemaine to be sure. “What did you say?”
Annie waved away his inquiry. “Oh, na’ a thin’, gov’na. M’liedy was just clearin’ her throat, that she was! ‘Tis all these here spores in the air, ye know.”
“Annie!” The name came out sounding like steam hissing from a boiling kettle, and perhaps that description could have been directly applied to Shemaine. She was not very appreciative of being discussed as if she were a piglet being offered for sale.
Stepping slowly and purposefully around Shemaine, Gage contemplated her from every angle. Even a large cabin could get uncomfortably cramped when it served as home to two people who couldn’t abide each other. Of late, he had become increasingly aware of the difficulty in coping with a woman, namely one Roxanne Corbin, who tried to smother him with her presence and attention. If not for his desperate need for a nursemaid to care for his son while he worked, he would never have considered taking Roxanne on in the first place, and now she expected far more from him than he was willing to give. In Shemaine’s case, however, he thought he might enjoy having her underfoot and discovering every minute detail about her.
Pausing beside her, Gage reached out and slid his fingers curiously over the delicate bones of her wrist. The contact seemed far too bold and intimate to Shemaine. Had he branded her, she would have felt no less disturbed, for his touch seemed like a warm flame slowly licking upward along her skin.
“Please don’t!” she begged breathlessly, pulling away. When he looked so sleek, hale, and hearty, what merit could he possibly find in a frail and filthy reed?
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Shemaine,” Gage apologized. “I only wanted to look at your hands. . . . May I?”
Shemaine didn’t like being the recipient of such close attention, especially when she felt so utterly unclean. Grudgingly she lifted her hands, resenting her lack of an option. She was just thankful he hadn’t asked to see her teeth!
Gage examined the slender fingers with care, finding them grimy yet finely made. He stroked a thumb across the fragile bones in the back of her hands and, turning them over, inspected the palms that were as soft as any well-born lady’s.
“You seem ill prepared for work, Shemaine,” he observed in amazement.
Beneath his searching gaze, Shemaine felt a blush stealing into her cheeks. “I’m not afraid of work, sir,” she said carefully, aware that her next words might greatly reduce the possibility of being purchased. “I’m just not well acquainted with it, that’s all.”
“I see,” Gage responded in bemusement. Perhaps what Annie had told him was actually true, that Shemaine O’Hearn really had been brought up as a lady. Only the very wealthy could afford to coddle their offspring with servants, which seemed the only plausible explanation for her soft hands and lack of skills. “I sincerely hope you have a talent for learning on your own, Shemaine. I can ill afford a tutor for you, nor do I have the time or the ability to instruct you myself.”
“I learn very quickly, sir,” she averred hastily. “If there are books to be had that give detailed instructions on the duties of a housekeeper, then I can teach myself.”
“I will earnestly have to look for one.”
“ ‘Twould help,” she answered gingerly.
“Do you even know how to cook?” Gage posed the inquiry again, trying to subdue his sudden concern. He fervently hoped they wouldn’t have to starve before she familiarized herself with some of the basics.
“I’m clever with a needle, sir,” Shemaine hedged cautiously, not wanting to divulge what she was basically uncertain about. Her mother had thought it prudent for a young lady to be taught all the skills of a wife, and their cook had fervently agreed, but Shemaine had not been the most attentive of students and could make no guarantees as to the extent of her memory.
Accepting her reply as a negative response, Gage heaved a dismal sigh. He wasn’t at all excited about the prospect of having to endure a novice’s cooking, but even Roxanne’s skills in that area could not compel him to veer from the course he was quickly laying out for himself. He knew by the very act of coming here today that he was seriously testing the winds of fate, but his desire to have Shemaine was beginning to far outweigh all other considerations.
“You seem very young,” he remarked, not wanting to dwell on her inexperience.
“Not so young, sir,” she readily rejoined, though at the moment she felt ancient. “I was ten and eight this past month.”
“Young enough!” Gage scoffed. “Unless, of course, you think a score, ten, and three is ancient.”
Shemaine was bemused by his statement. “What’s so significant about a score, ten, and three, sir?”
“ ‘Tis my age,” Gage informed her bluntly.
Oh! Shemaine’s lips formed the word, though her voice failed to give utterance to the syllable. Embarrassed by her blunder, she avoided meeting his gaze for fear he might detect her astonishment. She hadn’t really thought him to be that old!
An uneasy silence passed between them, and finally in fretful confusion, Shemaine raised her eyes to meet the ones that stared back at her. She fully expected him to tell her that he would have to seek elsewhere for a servant, but his eyes delved deeply into hers and seemed intent upon searching out her innermost secrets.
“Now,” Gage breathed, as if speaking to himself, “all I have to do is convince Mr. Harper to sell you to me.”
Shemaine’s heart fluttered in genuine relief. Though she had desired earlier to be bought by a woman, there was something about this man that made her confident of his integrity. Perhaps it was the angry look that had sharply creased his brow when he had broached the subject of the prisoners being starved. She just hoped her lack of skills would not bring that particular disaster to bear upon his small family.
Gage returned to the bosun and offered a sum with a casual indifference that was well feigned. “I’ll give you fifteen pounds for the girl.”
James Harper felt his hackles rise. Perhaps it was his own jealousy that had raised its inflated green head like a wary serpent when the man had looked the girl over, but he was beginning to suspect the colonial wanted her, not as a nursemaid for his son, but as a mistress for himself. “The captain gave me strict orders about the girl, Mr. Thornton! She’s not to be sold.”
“Twenty pounds then,” Gage said a bit more testily. He removed a leather purse from a larger pouch that was slung from a shoulder by a rawhide strap and worn on the opposite hip. Carefully he counted out the coins and offered them to the bosun. “That should be enough to suit your captain.”
“I tell you, the girl is not to be sold!” Harper insisted, growing irate. He refused to even acknowledge the outstretched hand.
“Dammit, man!” Gage snapped. Realizing his heightening intention to buy Shemaine whatever the cost, he asked incredulously, “You bring your prison ship into port and flaunt the cargo for every man to see, then you say you have no intention of selling the best part of it?” He laughed with trenchant skepticism. “Come now, Mr. Harper, is this a game? If it is, I have no time to play. Now tell me, how much do you want for the girl?”
“What’s going on here?” Captain Fitch demanded sharply as he joined the pair.
“Sir, this pilgrim,” Harper derided as he indicated Gage with an angry jerk of his head, “is insisting that he be allowed to purchase Shemaine O’Hearn. His last offer was twenty pounds. He wants to know what you’ll take for her.”
Brushing back his frock coat from his ponderous belly, Captain Fitch hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat and rocked back on his heels as he smirked at the tall stranger. “I fear you haven’t nearly enough coins in your possession to buy the wench, sir. She’s already spoken for.”
Shemaine caught her breath in surprise and quickly closed the distance between them. “By whom, sir?”
Peering obliquely past the large prow of his nose, Everette Fitch lifted dark, wispy brows as he regarded the maiden. His sly smile lit his gray eyes with a glowing ardor that was unmistakable, bringing an outraged blush to Shemaine’s cheeks as the realization dawned. Somehow the captain had contrived to have her for his own, even if he had to hide her beneath the very nose of his wife.
“Sir, I beg you!” Shemaine came threateningly close to tears as she considered the repulsive prospect. Becoming this man’s plaything would be more horrible than anything she had yet imagined. “Please, Captain Fitch, I don’t wish to arouse your wife’s ire more than it has been.” Indeed, a flogging would scarcely appease the woman’s desire for retribution if she ever learned of her husband’s intentions. “Let Mr. Thornton buy me. He’s a widower, sir, and has a youngling that needs tending.”
Recognizing the heavily weighted footfalls of his wife as she approached from behind, Everette stiffened and clasped his hands behind his back in perturbation. Throughout the voyage Gertrude had made it her business to dispatch her broad shape swiftly to his side whenever she sensed some monetary matter was being discussed. She was a needling, meddling, critical old jade, and he was anxious to experience a maid far more youthful, delectable and sweet.
“Everette, you’re needed on the bridge to sign papers of indenture,” Gertrude stated, snubbing her nose at James Harper.
“I’ll be along in a moment, dearest,” Everette said, trying to urge her back to the area of the ship from whence she had come. “Just as soon as I tend to the business here at hand.”
Gage grasped the situation immediately and, after purposefully doubling the amount of coins in his purse to draw the woman’s attention, spoke to her discreetly. “I was told the maid, Shemaine O’Hearn, cannot be purchased for any amount of coin that I have in my possession. Perhaps, madam, you’d care to count them for yourself.”
Gertrude peered askance at the tall man as he pressed the purse into her hand. Then she cast a suspicious glare toward her husband as she judged the weight of the moneybag. She promptly made a more accurate accounting of the amount it contained.
Shemaine quaked in fearful apprehension. She was certain that if Gertrude Fitch suspected how desperately she wanted to be sold to Gage Thornton, the possibility would be promptly nullified.
Gertrude came to her own conclusions and, upon returning the coins to the bag, jerked the rawhide strings closed with a finality that doomed her husband’s scheme. As much as she had yearned to see Shemaine dead and buried, she could not lightly dismiss a generous sum such as this. “Sign her papers, Everette,” she instructed officiously. “We’ll not likely gain a sum greater than forty pounds from another buyer.”
Captain Fitch opened his mouth to protest but paused as he met the colonial’s sardonic stare. He suddenly realized that if he wanted to continue commanding a ship, he had no choice but to sign the girl’s papers of indenture and give her to the man. He handed the document over with a grumbling complaint. “I don’t know what I’ll tell the other gentleman when he comes to fetch the wench.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Gage responded aridly. Allowing a spartan smile to touch his lips, he rolled the parchment and tucked it into the flat pouch at his side.
He glanced down at Shemaine. “Are you ready?”
She was anxious to be gone before Captain Fitch could think of a reason to delay them. Looking around for Annie, she found the woman timidly answering the inquiries of the short man Morrisa had rejected. She raised a hand in a gesture of farewell and hurriedly blinked back the moisture that blurred her own vision as Annie responded with an indistinct nod and a teary-eyed gaze. Facing her new master again, Shemaine sought to steel her emotions. “I have no other possessions than the clothes on my back, sir, poor as they are. I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
“Then let us be on our way,” Gage urged. Meeting the cold-eyed glower of James Harper above her head, he added, “I have no further business here, and there seems to be a storm brewing all around us.”
Shemaine lifted her gaze to the darkening sky looming close above their heads, but when she glanced around at the angry faces of the men who stood nearby, she realized the colonial’s statement only partially pertained to the weather. Following in his wake, she allowed him to lead her away from those who watched them.