Chapter Twelve
Aubrey Farrington was fast losing his patience with Malcolm Weatherly. “You’ll live,” he said callously. “You have no choice; you knew that when I made the arrangements to bring you aboard. You agreed; it’s as simple as that.”
“Listen to me, you weasel. I’ve had about all of this that I can stand. I need some hot food and fresh air. This locker box is like a hellish pit, and if you don’t figure some way to get me out at night and filch me some decent food, I’ll kill you,” Malcolm threatened. “It’s as simple as that.”
A chill washed over Farrington. Weatherly was brutally ugly. Gone were his dashing good looks and his debonair manner. Now he was scarred, his eye blinded and a vicious, crusting scab running the length of his face. His once elegant manners were now those of a hunted animal. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’ll make no promises. Caleb is resting on deck. If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll smuggle you some hot food. As for the fresh air, it depends on who is about and standing watch. I told you all this in the beginning and warned you there would be days when you would go hungry. You agreed. If you want to jeopardize all of our efforts, do it. Cal will have you shackled down here, and then where will you be? In case you aren’t familiar with the nautical mind, let me tell you that this locker box is a brig when the occasion demands it.”
Weatherly’s lip curled and he stifled the urge to lash out at the old man. He couldn’t allow him to have the last word. “Then see to getting me some clean clothes. These rags aren’t fit for the likes of me. They smell,” he said curtly.
Aubrey Farrington did not reply as he walked out the door. Some people were ignorant beyond insult, he muttered to himself as he threw the heavy iron bolt on the outside door. He smiled at the terminal sound. If he had his way, that sod would rot in there and no one would be the wiser. Only he would know. Himself and his maker, and as his years were drawing to a close, he knew he had better stay on the straight and narrow if he wished a seat in Heaven. He wasn’t exactly a religious man, calling on his God only in times of stress—acute stress. He was, however, superstitious, as were most gamblers. He smiled and wrinkled his nose. Weatherly was right. Rotten fish smelled better than he did.
Back on deck, Farrington approached Caleb and was told about Sara.
“I’ll be taking over your cabin; that means you move in with the crew,” Caleb said firmly, disregarding Farrington’s look of displeasure at being ousted from his small, comfortable cabin. “And if you see that bastard Stoneham step one foot off that ladder, call me immediately. I’ve already alerted the crew. And, Aubrey, I want you to see to the women’s well-being. Take their food to them and keep an eye on Wren. It will be a couple of days before she can walk the decks. I’m placing their care in your hands. I don’t know what ails the Stoneham girl, but I’m sure you’ll find a remedy.”
Farrington heard the ring of iron in Cal’s voice and knew better than to protest. He had seen the tired look in his dark eyes and realized his friend was in pain. But now Aubrey had to be both a jailer and a wet nurse!
Later that evening, while Sara was out on deck, Caleb let himself into his former cabin to look in on Wren. She was lying on the bunk, her slight form barely making a mound beneath the coverlets, her face pale and wan against the pillows. Yet she gathered her strength and smiled up at him, the gratitude in her eyes magically kindling them to flames.
“I’m glad to see you looking alive. How does your shoulder feel?” he asked her, tenderness in his voice.
“Much better, thank you,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his face.
“Have you everything you want? Are you thirsty?”
Wren nodded in affirmation. He lifted her gently to a half-raised position and placed a glass near her lips. She sipped slowly, barely having the strength to swallow. “You shouldn’t be alone; I’ll have someone come and stay with you.” Just as gently he lowered her to the pillow and moved toward the door.
“Caleb, wait,” she said hoarsely, her voice weak and thready.
Almost as though he knew what she was going to say, he hesitated in returning to her side. He crossed the cabin slowly, trying to assume some of his old swagger in spite of his injuries. But he realized it would be better to have it said than to keep running from it. If anything, it would be more painful for her than for him.
“Caleb, I . . . I have the feeling that I’ve . . . did I say anything to you about . . . about. . .” It seemed impossible for her to voice the words. It was unnecessary. From the pain in his eyes she knew she hadn’t been dreaming. She had told him everything about Malcolm, or at least enough for him to put the pieces together to comprehend what had happened to her.
“Caleb, I couldn’t bear it if you turned away from me. Do I disgust you?” she asked weakly, the effort of speaking nearly taking her breath away.
Instantly he was down on one knee, his face close to hers. “Never,” he assured her, his voice threatening to break. “I think you are the bravest, most courageous girl. . .” It was impossible to continue.
“I know what happened to the Sea Siren. Frau Holtz told me. And I knew that if she could go on with her life, so could I. But I couldn’t bear to have you look at me with pity, Caleb. That is all I ask of you.”
“Never, Wren, only with admiration. And I promise you something else. When I get back to England, I’ll search out that bastard and make him pay for what he’s done to you. I swear it. He’ll never draw another breath once I find him, no matter what it takes.” The vindictiveness in his voice frightened her, and she calmed him with a light touch to his cheek.
“Hush. There’s no need for that. Every time Malcolm looks into a mirror he’ll remember what his lust cost him.” Slowly, and with great effort, she insisted on telling him what she had done to escape the seamen and Malcolm. She admitted killing the ruffian and waited breathlessly for a look of horror to fill Caleb’s eyes. When she saw only respect and admiration mirrored there, she relaxed and felt cleansed by her confession.
“Sleep now, little one,” he told her, placing a gentle hand on her forehead, afraid that the strain of their conversation would mean the return of her fever.
Obediently she closed her eyes. Just before he stepped out of the cabin, she called to him. “Will you come and see me again?”
In that long moment before he answered her, sleep claimed her, and her face became peaceful and serene.
Two days short of a fortnight found both Sara and Wren up and about. Caleb, completely mended, had resumed his duties as captain of the Sea Siren.
It was an hour past noon when Wren looked deeply into Aubrey Farrington’s eyes and said, “Thank you for saving my life. I’ll never forget it. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you’ve done and for the care you’ve given me.”
Aubrey blinked and frowned slightly at her words, and at that precise moment Wren won a permanent place in his heart. She looked different to him somehow. More womanly, more sure of herself. He hadn’t known her before, but she had had the face of a girl when Harkin had carried her into Caleb’s cabin. He couldn’t explain it, and he was probably thinking through his hat, as Caleb called it. So he would mark it down to a foolish old man’s wandering mind. Or did he have some preconceived opinions of her because Caleb had said she was flighty, irresponsible, spoiled, and had a tongue as sharp as any shrew on the wharf?
“You owe me no thanks. I did what anyone else would have done. You owe your true thanks to Caleb. He is the one who saved your life and knew what to do when your fever reached a peak. I was out of my depth, but he wasn’t. You should be talking to him and not me.”
Sara sat quietly and listened to the exchange between Wren and the gambler. She was puzzled. She and Wren had spoken very little since the day Caleb had brought her up here. Wren slept for long periods, and when she did awaken, she seemed to prefer her own company and to remain quiet. Sara didn’t really feel like talking either, and, at best, the long silences were companionable. She wondered if she should confide in Wren, tell her what she feared. Sometimes it helped to talk to someone, even stupid, frivolous Wren. Once she had tried and been stunned at the look in Wren’s eyes. But Wren wasn’t a silly schoolgirl any longer. She seemed different now, more assured . . . more womanly. Besides, what could Wren do except listen and then make a cutting remark, as had been her custom when she didn’t like something? But Sara didn’t think she could bring herself to tell Wren that the child she carried was Malcolm Weatherly’s child. She couldn’t. Then what was she to do? If Bascom ever found out, God in his Heaven couldn’t save her.
She shuddered, and Farrington was immediately concerned, thinking she was having another attack of mal de mer. She smiled and said she was fine. He looked relieved. Taking care of two ailing women appeared to have bested the old man. Perhaps he would help her when they got to America. He was experienced, wise to the ways of the world. And old men liked young women. If she approached him carefully, she might be able to wrap him around her little finger and have him dancing to her tune. There was Caleb to consider also. After all, hadn’t he taken pity on her and brought her to his very own quarters so that she could recuperate from her malaise? Caleb and the gambler seemed to be fast friends, and if she remembered correctly, at one time Wren had said they were partners. If she behaved smartly, perhaps she could pit one against the other and come out the winner. Tomorrow she would put her ideas into action and get the feel of things. Tomorrow was a new day. She needed this long night to map out a plan that would guarantee her safety from Bascom when they reached America. A plan whereby she and the child growing in her womb would have sufficient funds to enable them never to want for anything. All she needed to achieve her goal was a sound plan.
One day ran into the next, the mid-May weather becoming softer and more inviting. Sara and Wren barely spoke to each other, with Wren alternating between periods of depression and anger when she realized Caleb had made no move in her direction since she had explained what had happened to her. He had come to see her on several occasions, that was true, but only when Sara or Farrington had been in the cabin. Since she had recovered, her attempts to seek him out had not been successful. Each time she ventured near the wheelhouse, one of the crew would hurry her back to the deck, telling her the captain had no time for women’s chitchat.
If it was the last thing she did before she left the ship, she would give him a piece of her mind for letting her rot in that dreadful hold with Bascom Stoneham. And if Caleb thought that helping her pass her feverish crisis served as his atonement, he was sadly mistaken. He couldn’t face her. That was just like a man. He does his dirty work and then runs and hides, afraid to stand up and get his comeuppance. Well, she wouldn’t let him get away with that!
Gulping back a well of tears, Wren hated to admit that Caleb’s avoidance of her had begun just after she had told him she had killed the seaman and maimed Malcolm. How the sight of her must repel him! She had driven him away with her confession just as surely as if she’d hefted a club in his direction.
She sat in her hard wooden chair on the deck and idly played with the deck of cards Lottie had given her. Since the order had been given that none of Bascom’s flock could come above, the decks were painfully absent of people walking about, conversing in hopeful voices about the new lives they were going to lead in America. Even Bascom’s fire-and-brimstone preachings were missed. “Like a stone removed from my shoe,” Wren muttered, refocusing her attention on the thin cards which slipped through her fingers.
She hated the idea of tricking Aubrey Farrington into a game of chance now that she had gotten to know him so well. He treated her kindly, like a grandfather, and she liked his sly smile and disarming wit. How could she bring herself to cheat him after all he had done for her? Damnation! But there was still the promise she had made to Lottie to settle an old score with Lord Farrington. She decided she would make it up to him later.
Sara appeared on deck, her sea legs making her movements graceful and unhurried. Every hand working with the rigging or sheets stopped what he was doing to watch her as she tossed her long, silvery-blond hair over her shoulders and pretended not to see the flirting looks cast her way.
Vain bitch! Wren thought uncharitably. I know she’s going by the wheelhouse, I know she’s going to wave to Caleb and I know he’s going to wave back. The crew never stopped Sara from visiting the wheelhouse, just Wren. “Damn you, Caleb,” she said viciously just as Aubrey Farrington sat down next to her, his eyes on her playing cards.
“What have we here?” he asked, a surprised look on his face.
“Aubrey!” Wren cried in surprise. “Sit down and talk to me for a while. I feel like such an outcast on this damn ship. Sara looks at me as if she’s blaming me for her brother’s insane behavior, and Caleb hasn’t come near me since I managed to get up and walk. You’re the only one who will talk to me. Sara mutters from time to time, but it’s not the same as talking.” Then she laughed. “I see you’re looking at these cards. I like to shuffle them; it keeps my fingers limber. For when I play the spinet,” she added hastily. “And I like to look at the birds on the back and imagine where they come from.” At Farrington’s skeptical glance, she continued. “When I was in school we studied nature and the woodland creatures, and I quite fell in love with plumed birds. So colorful and bright, they take your breath away. Don’t you agree?”
“To be sure, to be sure,” Aubrey said. His skepticism had changed to amusement. “Do you know how to play? Cards, I mean.”
“Yes, but not very well. Ladies don’t play cards. I just like the pictures of the birds. But if you want to pass some time, perhaps you could teach me what you know, and then later on we could play a real game for . . . for money. I have five pounds I could wager.”
An hour later Aubrey rose and stared down at Wren. “My dear, you have a natural talent for this game. For someone who just likes to look at the backs of the cards, you did remarkably well. If we had been playing for money, you would have skinned my purse.”
“Beginner’s luck, Aubrey. If we had been playing for money, I doubt I could have been so lucky. Are you sure you taught me all you know? Somehow I thought card playing was more difficult.”
“It’s only difficult when you cheat at the game. And I would never do that,” he said virtuously, raising his eyes to the heavens.
“Nor I,” Wren echoed just as virtuously. “Being a cardsharp is the same as being a thief.”
“You’re so right, my dear. What do you say to a short stroll on deck before dinner?”
They chatted companionably as they made their rounds. When Wren saw Sara enter the wheelhouse, she faltered in her step and her eyes smoldered and sparked angrily. Then she turned abruptly, anxious to get back to her quarters, and left Farrington standing there perplexedly.
Aubrey saw Caleb nod to Sara and motion her to sit down. “It’s the wrong choice, Cal,” he said quietly, and wandered off.
Sara seated herself and folded her hands primly into the folds of her thick black skirts. How pale her hands looked, she thought, with their delicate tracing of blue veins. She was thin, much too thin, unable to eat for fear the rocking of the ship would make her vomit. Her liquid-blue eyes appeared to Caleb to be gentle, yet sad. What was she doing here? he wondered.
She knew she had to say something or he would begin to think her as addlepated as Bascom. “Captain van der Rhys, I’ve come to thank you for allowing me to stay on deck. I feel much better now that I’ve gotten my sea legs, and if you wish, I can return to my . . . my brother and the others.”
Caleb watched her closely. Captain van der Rhys, she called him. In Tyler Sinclair’s house she had called him Caleb quite freely and had openly flirted with him. Women! His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as he replied, “I was planning on seeking you out later to see how you were faring. I feel reassured to hear you are on the mend and have your sea legs. For a while I thought I was captaining a hospital ship.”
Sara moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and gazed up at him. She was annoyed at the way he was staring at her. His eyes traveled from her mouth to her throat and down to her breasts. His face wore an amused look and his eyes were openly mocking as he made no effort to conceal his approval. It had been a long time since he had had a woman. He made a mental wager with himself that he could have her in bed within the hour.
“It’s time for me to turn the wheel over to my first mate. Would you like me to show you around the Sea Siren?”
Sara’s eyes lowered. “I’d like that very much, Captain van der Rhys.”
Caleb’s expression continued to be amused as he handed over the wheel to Peter, who grinned at him knowingly.
As they strolled along the deck, Sara spoke quietly. “Does this invitation to walk with you mean you no longer find me unattractive?” It was a bold, blatant question, and Caleb answered in kind.
“I found you very attractive back in England, and I find you very attractive now. But I like to be the one who does the pursuing. I’ve found over the years that when a woman sets out to snare a man, she usually has some use for him. Do you, Sara Stoneham, find me useful in some way?”
Sara laughed, the first genuine laugh she had uttered in months. “And if I did, do you think I would admit it? Why don’t we agree that if we were to find a convenient room with a bed, I would find you useful?”
Caleb laughed also. “I guess that means you no longer fear my fits.”
Sara raised her eyes and smiled happily. “I’ve learned to live with many things not to my liking over the past months. I think I can learn to live with your fits.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the openly speculative looks the seamen were giving her and Caleb. It was good that they noticed. Later she would need them to bear witness that she had lain with the captain.
Caleb’s shoulders tensed as he approached Peter’s cabin. His gut told him he would be sorry for this little adventure, and he almost made an excuse to turn back. But it was too late. They were already through the door, and Sara kicked it shut with her foot and leaned against it, her eyes wide with invitation. Caleb took her in his arms and she flung her arms around his neck, her lips slightly parted. He kissed her savagely, his tongue exploring the sweetness of her mouth. Then he drew away and carefully chose the words he wanted to say. “This means nothing other than what it is.” His sun-bronzed hand tilted her chin upward, bringing her face to his.
“But of course. A moment of passion, of bodily release, nothing more. I understand, Caleb,” she said, moving toward him and locking him in a tight embrace. The pulsating throbbing in her breasts made her cry out as she returned his ardor with total wantonness.
Their clothing in a tangled heap on the floor, Caleb lay down next to Sara and pulled her close. His movements were slow, almost lazy, as he played with her body. His mouth was brutal in its intensity as he brushed and teased her silken skin till the rosy crests became taut and erect.
Sara’s tongue became a live serpent as it traced the outline of Caleb’s mouth, darting inside, treasuring its warm moistness.
He kissed her eyes and neck and the hollow of her throat, where her pulse beat so wildly she thought she would faint. His hands were demanding as they swept across her thighs and found the warmth between her legs, sending her into a breathless frenzy of desire with each caress of his fingertips. When she thought she could no longer bear the feverish pitch to which he had brought her, he drove into her, again and again. Crashing waves of fire coursed through her as she cried out his name over and over.
Later, lying side by side, she stroked his cheek with gentle fingers. Perhaps now she could live again, love again and find some kind of happiness, regardless of Malcolm. Her body had responded to his passions, and that was all she needed to know for the moment. She watched Caleb’s eyes close, his face content in the aftermath of their lovemaking. How well he had enjoyed her, crying out her name as she had forced his from her lips.
When sleep had overtaken him and his breathing had become deep and regular, Sara crept from the bunk and dressed quietly. She paused for a moment to stare down at him and admitted regretfully to herself that she had no feeling for Caleb other than that of physical satisfaction. He was an artful lover, demanding, overpowering, exciting, yet Malcolm would always be the man she wanted, the man she hungered for and craved. However far away from her Malcolm was in death, she would always remember the urgency of his hands, his mouth, his entire body. Her need for him went beyond the physical boundaries of sex, hers was the need of love.
Perhaps, Sara thought, in time she could learn to love Caleb van der Rhys. The next time she joined him in bed she would practice all the things Malcolm had taught her. Today was too soon. As it was, the Dutchman had been surprised to discover she was not a virgin. What would he say when he found out she was pregnant and claiming him as the father of her unborn child? It didn’t matter what he thought. It mattered only what he did. Caleb van der Rhys was an honorable man. And honorable men always did what clever women said they should do.
Caleb woke, immediately aware of where he was and what had occurred between him and Sara Stoneham. He stretched his long-muscled limbs and felt them come to life. There was no denying he was much better, recovering nicely from the injuries he had sustained during the storm. A man had to be in fine fettle to satisfy a woman the way he had just satisfied Sara. He could still hear the sound of his name on her lips as one wave of passion had followed another. He smiled, self-assured that his injuries had in no way affected his performance in bed.
He supposed he should be feeling somewhat guilty about Sara. He knew he entertained no thoughts of a deeper attachment to her, except perhaps another encounter beneath the sheets. He had no desire to play the part of a love-sick puppy. It had been a pleasurable interlude, and somehow he had the impression that little Miss Stoneham was more versed in the arts of love than she had let on. And he hadn’t been disappointed to discover that she wasn’t a virgin. Virgins, he told himself, are bothersome creatures. He was tired of breaking them in for some other man to enjoy. He’d take a woman of experience any day.
As happened so often lately, whenever his thoughts were on women, somehow they traveled to Wren. He would have to seek her out and explain to her that his plans included taking her back to Sirena and Regan, even if that meant bringing her all the way to Java. And the sooner the better. Why did he keep postponing the inevitable? Before long he would have to face her, something he had been avoiding to keep from remembering how she had felt beside him in the bunk, his arms wrapped protectively about her. How she had called his name and how he had answered. How he had buried his face in her wealth of dark hair and groaned at his inadequacy to make her well. She couldn’t mean anything to him, he wouldn’t allow it. She was a sister of sorts. A street urchin whom Sirena had defended and generously adopted. His only obligation to her was that of a brother bent on avenging his sister, regardless of her insistence that she had avenged herself. Then why did you give orders to the crew to bar her from the wheelhouse? a niggling voice questioned.
How well he remembered the first day he had seen Wren. The image of her as a child was almost impossible to keep from his thoughts. As well as the sound of Sirena’s hushed murmur to Frau Holtz that Wren was his destiny. Why did those words persist in revolving around his head? He must not have heard correctly. How could a woman be a man’s destiny? Bah! he snorted as he swung his legs over the side of the bunk.
One leg in his trousers, he stopped and almost fell to the floor. Sirena had been Regan’s destiny. He had known it before either of them. “God, help me,” he muttered as he shoved his other leg into his trousers and hastily donned his shirt. He needed fresh air and the deck beneath his feet. He needed to look at the ocean and see the breakers. The sea was his destiny, not some two-legged creature with eyes like tapered candle flames.
While Sara had whiled away her idle hours with Caleb in the first mate’s bunk, her brother had been telling his flock that the sinners above deck were the devil’s handiwork and he would save them all. His prayer book clutched in his bony hands, he called for each member to stand in front of him so that he could personally convince them, just by the touch of his hand, that he was the Lord’s chosen messenger and, as such, would drive the devil from this ship. If necessary, he exhorted, he would captain the ship himself.
Lydia Stoneham was the first to stand before him and hold out her hand. “Please, Bascom, speak with Captain van der Rhys and ask if the women might not go on deck just for a few moments. The heat down here is unbearable and the stench is terrible. Tell him you’re sorry and beg his forgiveness, if necessary.” Her voice rose till it was a shrill shriek. “Damn you, ask him!”
Bascom raised his hand and hit her on the side of the head with the prayer book, stunning her briefly. “Profanity! You dare to use profanity in the presence of a messenger of the Lord! My own wife! Down on your knees, woman, and if the Lord doesn’t strike you dead, you can consider yourself fortunate. My own wife! And in front of my flock!”
Lydia was beyond caring, beyond feeling. He was insane, and if he was a messenger of the Lord, then she was his disciple. “I’ve had enough of you and your mealy-mouthed mutterings. I can’t bear another minute of it, not another minute. I’m going up that ladder and I’m never coming down again. Did you hear me, Bascom? If I have to leap overboard, I will. I’ll do anything to get away from you. You’re insane!” she shot over her shoulder as she gathered up her skirts and raced up the wooden ladder.
When she emerged through the hatch and stepped onto the deck above, the seaman standing guard could only regard her with surprise, unsure of what he should do. He couldn’t push a woman back down the ladder. Captain van der Rhys hadn’t said what he should do if a woman came up the ladder and tried to escape. Before he could decide what course of action to take, Lydia was running down the deck, sobbing heartbrokenly. She would throw herself over the rail and it would be over. Better to die than to live out her life with Bascom.
Blinded by tears, she paid no heed to where she was running and didn’t see a pair of strong arms reach out for her. She shrieked as though in pain, thinking it was Bascom who had trapped her.
But these strong arms weren’t Bascom’s. And the square face with the strong chin weren’t Bascom’s either. This face had dark eyes full of concern and belonged to the first mate, Peter. “Easy, now . . . easy, now,” he said softly. “What seems to be the matter? How did you get up here and where are you going?”
“Over the rail,” Lydia gulped as she dabbed at the tears glistening in her eyes. “I hate him—I’ve always hated him,” she blurted defiantly. “He’s insane, and I’d rather die than go back down there. If you make me go back, I’ll find a way to get up here again. Please,” she implored, “don’t make me go back down there.”
“I won’t make you go back, but I think we’d better have a little talk with the captain.” So she hated her husband and thought him insane, did she? It was the first sensible thing Peter had heard in weeks. She should know about the preacher, being married to him, he thought happily. She certainly was a pretty woman, and he did admire a pretty face.
When Peter ushered Lydia into the wheelhouse, Caleb groaned aloud. He was being overrun by females. “All right, the straight of it. What did she do?”
Peter suppressed a grin, his eyes twinkling merrily at Caleb’s discomfort. “She said she was going over the side. She said she hated her husband and she refused to go back to the hold. She said if we made her go back, she’d find a way to get out again, and she also said she’d rather die than go back. The matter is in your hands, Captain,” he concluded smartly, turning on his heel and leaving the wheelhouse.
“Mrs. Stoneham, it isn’t easy operating a ship,” Caleb began warily. “It takes one’s full attention to navigate and stay true to the course. I have no time to settle marital disputes. Whatever your problem, it will have to be settled by you and your husband. There’s no room topside for another female. I’m ordering you to go below to your husband.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re a messenger of the Lord, too. Is that it? Well, I’m not interested in hearing any more messages. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime. I meant what I said. I would rather be dead than go back down there to him. He’s no messenger of the Lord. He’s the devil himself. He’s evil. He makes me do terrible things, makes the others do terrible things, too. He tried to make Wren obey him and she wouldn’t. You can’t send me back. I won’t go,” Lydia declared firmly, settling herself on a round stool near Caleb and the wheel.
Damn fool woman. Now what was he to do? “I’m the captain and you must obey me,” he said, frowning at her docile look. She wasn’t going to budge, he could feel it in his bones.
“It was your very own sister who gave me the courage to rebel at last. What kind of man are you to make me go back there so he can force me to do all those terrible things?”
“My dear woman, there are worse things in life than praying for forgiveness.”
“I didn’t do anything for God to forgive!” Lydia shrieked. “Weren’t you listening to me?” Merciful God, was this strange person who was carrying on in such a state really Lydia Stoneham? Where had she gotten the courage to say something as bizarre as that she would jump over the rail? She couldn’t swim and would go straight to the bottom! Belatedly, she covered her mouth and groaned inwardly. Who would blame the captain if he thought she was as dotty as her husband?
Caleb didn’t want to ask her, but he did, almost knowing what her response would be. “What things, Mrs. Stoneham?”
Her face a bright crimson, Lydia spoke hesitantly, gathering courage as she went along, leaving out nothing, not even her own scorching humiliation, finally ending with, “I meant it, Captain. I’ll leap over the side if you try to make me go back there.”
Aubrey, you bastard, where are you when I need you? Caleb swore silently. He felt out of his depth with this woman seated before him. He couldn’t send her back. What man in his right mind would subject a woman to such degradation? The only name that came to his lips was Bascom Stoneham.
Caleb whistled between his teeth, a shrill, sharp note that brought Peter on the run. “Take Mrs. Stoneham to my quarters and arrange sleeping accommodations for her with the other two women. They can take turns with the bunks. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”
“Aye, Captain.” Peter grinned as he gallantly escorted Lydia from the wheelhouse.
Whoever had said that men needed women was a fool, Caleb thought with a grimace. Or else that person hadn’t known the women on his ship.