Chapter Five

 

The day following the funeral, a freakish ice storm hit. With the roads impassable, Rosalyn’s inspection of the Fair Winds, pulled in for loading at the wharf, was delayed. A week later, the weather cleared, and she knew she must act quickly. Only that morning her father had mentioned in her hearing that as soon as the new cargo was safely stowed on board, the ship would be weighing anchor.

She must, therefore, inspect the ship herself, and determine what role the Fair Winds might play in securing her future and putting as many miles as possible between her and her father. No matter how much unmarried persons were looked down upon for resisting the colony’s strong views on marriage, she would not allow Boston’s dowagers to conspire with Abner Morgan to marry her off a second time!

Sending a note ahead by messenger to inform the ship’s officers of her visit, she had Mrs. Cottington’s stable boy drive her to the dock at nine o’clock. There she easily located the three-masted barque. Sitting low in the water, the Fair Winds was truly a sight to behold.

Observing all the rules of mourning expected by her neighbors, Rosalyn wore black to avoid gossip. Her rebellious thoughts she kept to herself. Having been spared the indignity of sharing a bed with a total stranger, she was fully resolved to make the most of her good fortune. She owned an equal share in the Fair Winds with the Captain’s eldest son, whoever he was. For all she knew or cared, he was probably lurking in some London gambling hell, or chasing the hounds across the English countryside, totally unaware that he had inherited a large share of his father’s wealth.

That being the case, she fully intended to seize the upper hand. Why, she might sail for England herself! At least there she could enjoy some of the cultural advantages at which provincial Bostonians sniffed, including attending the theatre, wearing fashionable gowns, and mingling more freely in society.

Now that she intended to leave her father’s house, she was through letting anyone dictate how she should live, or with whom, or even if she should ever remarry at all! The way she felt right now, she much preferred being an “old maid,” even if others frowned upon an unmarried female as having anti-social, aberrant behavior!

Instructing her young driver to return for her within the hour, Rosalyn pulled her warm, woolen cloak more closely about her and walked briskly toward the boarding ramp.

Several men were busily hefting bales of carded wool and stowing them below deck. Glad that nobody had noticed her arrival, she followed a couple of sailors aboard, rather hoping to see how the ship was run before her presence was detected. A group of men, singing and working in unison, were hauling a large crate aboard, using a pulley system of ropes.

 

Oh, you thievin’ Maggie May,

you robbed me of me pay,

When I slept with you last night ashore.

Oh, guilty the jury found her,

for robbin’ a homeward-bounder,

An’ she’ll ne'er roll down Fulton Street no more!

 

Hearing the ribald lyrics, Rosalyn recoiled in shock. She would just have to ban the singing of such disreputable ditties, once she met the new captain and acquainted him with her desire to sail on the Fair Winds.

As she moved aft toward the captain’s and officers’ quarters, she began to notice all the curious stares she was getting. The deck was teeming with burly dock hands and crew members alike, sweating profusely, despite the cold wintry breezes.

She dodged out of the way and looked about, listening to the groans and thunder of men and cargo, ship and flapping sails. Seeing an open hatch, she decided to follow the narrow steps downward. She found herself in a companionway with tiny cabins on either side and a varnished table in the center of what appeared to be a small dining area.

As she entered, a man, busily recording inventory and figures in a logbook, raised his dark head at the sound of her light step.

“You!” she gasped aloud. It was the man who had accosted her at the cemetery!

He stared her up and down impudently. “Well, well. If it isn’t Miss Prim,” he said, setting down his book and thrusting his thumbs in his broad leather belt. “To what do we scum o’ the sea owe the honor of this visit?”

Rosalyn didn’t deign to respond. It was obvious he sought to goad her into another unpleasant scene. Instead she returned his cool stare with one she trusted was every bit as hostile.

Under the light drifting down from the skylight on deck, she estimated his height to be slightly under six feet—shorter than her father, whose height often intimidated other people, including herself. Even so, this man’s powerful muscular body was enough to rattle her composure and give her second thoughts about the wisdom of coming on board alone. Dressed casually in a white shirt and waistcoat, his woolen cap shoved back on his slightly wavy black locks, he moved with such animal prowess that she found herself holding her breath, waiting for a sneak attack.

His hazel eyes, flecked with gold, seemed to look straight through her. Even with the table between them, he made her uneasy. Coming here and encountering him in such an alien environment placed her at a decided disadvantage. Still, she reminded herself, it was of little consequence to her what this impertinent sailor might think of her.

His bold gaze and the way he moistened his lips, while he looked her over, was even more disquieting. Rosalyn felt her cheeks grow warm, despite her resolve not to let him see how rattled she felt.

She found her tongue at last. “Who is in charge here?” she demanded.

“I am. I was the Captain’s First Mate. With the Old Man gone, that leaves me in command. Any objections?” He bared his teeth, his eyes full of insolent humor.

Rosalyn’s Welsh temper flared. “As you may have heard, I own half of the Fair Winds, now that my—uh, now that Captain Watermann is gone. I have come to inspect the ship.”

He stood and moved toward her with casual menace. “Ah, yes. How is the grieving widow today?”

“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head!” she said haughtily.

“And where else might I put my tongue?” he countered.

Rosalyn ground her teeth. “Just show me around the ship!”

“Certainly.” He nodded. “I suppose you’re acquainted with most ships this size, since your father is a sailmaker?”

“I have little acquaintance with my father’s business, or with vessels such as this.” Rosalyn hated giving him cause to feel superior. She clasped her hands primly in front of her. “Please tell me how many officers and crew, and your next destination.”

He moved past her, opening compartment doors and giving her a quick view of the cramped officers’ quarters.

“We usually have seven officers, a ship’s carpenter, galley cook, two helpers. In addition, we require twenty-two common sailors, whose berths are in the foc’sle. However,” and his eyes swept over her boldly, “we’re short on crew, since four men on shore leave got thrown in the stocks, one of ‘em for pinching a bawdy wench’s bottom in public on the sabbath.” He chuckled, watching her blush. “Drunkenness and fighting are the most common offenses.”

“Never mind that,” she snapped. “How long will it take to replace them?”

“Depends on whether we send a crimp ashore to lure ’em aboard, or just club some poor drunken limeys over the head and shanghai ’em,” he said, with his best pirate’s sneer.

His bold eyes held hers, and she blushed violently. His scrutiny gave her such an odd feeling inside! Uneasy, she moved away from him, and he smiled knowingly, his tawny eyes following her every move like a tiger about to pounce.

“Such tactics hardly seem necessary,” she said haughtily. “There must be plenty of men willing to hire on for decent wages without having to resort to violence or subterfuge.” She was surprised how calm her voice sounded! “Now, what cargo are you carrying?”

“Textiles, wool, hides, but mostly salted codfish and barrel hoops and staves. All bound for Jamaica, where we’ll trade for sugar and spices and rum. From there, we head for England.”

“Ah! When do you set sail?” she asked, her mind made up to risk all, despite this disagreeable person.

“You sound eager!” His teeth flashed in the semblance of a pirate's smile, but his eyes were piercing and hard with suspicion. “We leave tomorrow morning, if we don’t get another sudden freeze. I don’t intend to get stuck in Boston Harbor like the Freelandia did last winter.”

“Good,” Rosalyn said crisply. “I plan to come along. I’ll have my trunks delivered to the ship later today.”

His eyebrows rose. “And where do you plan to take up quarters, fair lady? There’s only one captain’s quarters, and none that’s fit for passengers.”

Rosalyn blushed. “I shall take the captain’s quarters, naturally. You’re used to the First Mate’s cabin, so that should suit you splendidly.”

“Gracious of you to say so, ma’am.” His voice purred, low and unamused. “Why this sudden interest in sea voyages?”

“To borrow your term, I was shanghaied, when my father married me to a man I barely knew and certainly could never love.” Her eyes grew misty with sudden tears, and she bit her lip to keep from losing control. While she didn’t seek this man’s sympathy, she did hope for basic cooperation. “I certainly don’t intend to remain in Boston and let my father dictate who my second husband will be!”

Her eyes flashed with spirited determination, and he had to admit grudgingly that she was a beauty, even if she was a heartless creature. “No doubt you’ll do better for yourself next time in jolly old England, Mrs. Watermann.”

She gasped at his appalling rudeness. He had deliberately turned her words against her, to make her sound avarous!

“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear, Mister— whoever you are!” She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t think very highly of marriage.”

He doffed his cap with a mocking bow. “My sentiments exactly. Though in your case, it seems a damn shame. Too bad the Old Man’s heart wasn’t strong enough to handle the excitement of a young wench like yourself.” He broke into a derisive laugh.

Rosalyn trembled with anger. Eager to escape his infuriating insults, she moved toward the steps at the other end of the hold. Suddenly the prospect of a long voyage with such a man commanding the ship made her hesitate. Again she wondered, Why such animosity? Since she had done him no wrong, she proffered her hand, seeking to make amends. “I promise I shall try to stay out of your way, sir,” she said. “And I trust you will show me the same courtesy?”

The man, taking the defiant tilt of her chin as a direct challenge, grasped her hand, and in one smooth tug brought her closer than she'd intended—right up against his lean muscular chest, where she couldn’t avoid the salty aroma of the sea and his unmistakably masculine scent. Obviously hoping to discourage her participation in the voyage, he smiled rakishly and began to peel back her right black glove.

Shocked by such impertinence, Rosalyn struggled to withdraw her hand. But he retained his grasp and lifted her bared wrist to his lips with a devilish look that sent a jolt of excitement and fear coursing through her veins.

“I trust you plan to bring along a chaperone, Mrs. Watermann?” he murmured. “The nights are long and warm in the tropics.” His lips felt hot against her skin; his sultry gaze was full of menacing intent.

Rosalyn held her breath, trembling slightly, hating herself and him, for her reaction. His tawny eyes contained a definite threat. Or was it a promise of things to come?

“Stop it!” She snatched back her hand. “You think to frighten me, but it won’t work! Nothing will make me abandon my plan to leave Boston. I-I have a good mind to dismiss you!”

“That might be harder to accomplish than you imagine.” He grinned. “Few men handle the Fair Winds better than I.”

Thoroughly exasperated, Rosalyn tried to stare him down. “You certainly are conceited!”

“I beg to differ.” His brawny arm blocked her access to the top deck. “I happen to have spent longer aboard this ship than anyone except the Old Man.”

“Oh, very well!” she spat out angrily. “Just do your job! When we get to England, we shall be well rid of each other.”

“Aye.” To her immense relief, he stood aside. As she lifted her skirt to ascend the narrow steps, a small swell rocked the ship, unsettling her balance and causing her hips to sway.

He let out a low whistle, making a show of admiring her ankles. “No wonder the old rascal keeled over, anticipating the wedding night nuptials.”

Furious, Rosalyn swung around halfway up the steps, only to find him right behind her. His hands gripped the rails on either side of her body and held her captive. The radical gleam in his eyes convinced her what a dangerous man he truly was, deep down.

“How dare you speak disrespectfully to me?” she flared. “You are nothing but a rogue.”

He shrugged. “What am I to think when a young fortune hunter marries a man older than her own father?”

She groaned. “What intrigues you so about my late husband’s affairs? You act as if you have a personal grudge against me! I assure you—”

His eyelids flickered, as if he finally realized how far he'd overstepped himself. “Sorry. I never figured the Old Man would die so suddenly. He always seemed so vigorous aboard the Fair Winds,” he said softly.

Rosalyn tried to mount the ladder and escape the confinement of his arms. She tried, but his eyes had such a hold on her, she could scarcely breathe. Even so, she wanted to dispel any mistaken ideas he had about his captain. “The doctor said his personal habits undoubtedly led to his death. The combination of too much spirits and dancing.” While they were on the subject, she decided to broach the subject of drinking on board. “Sir, I strongly disapprove of hard liquor—”

His lips curled in a provocative leer. “Could have fooled me at your wedding, madam.”

Rosalyn winced, as his words hit home like a physical blow. Clearly he meant never to let her forget her unseemly behavior. “It never happened to me before, and never shall again,” she said and, taking a steadying breath, drew herself up haughtily. “You should know that I expect spirits to be strictly forbidden on board ship among the crew.”

“Ah, yes, the virtuous virgin widow,” he taunted, ogling her. “I take it your prim attire this morning is designed to convince me that you’re a proper lady, through and through?”

Incensed, Rosalyn tried to inch away from him on the ladder, but his face was still only scant inches from hers. “I see you hold our Puritan beliefs and practices in derision!” she gasped.

“Not completely,” he allowed. “But it does baffle me that a worldly man like the Captain would have knowingly married such a prude.”

She would have slapped his face, if she could have moved her arms. “My father was most generous with my dowry,” she informed him stiffly.

He shrugged. “That explains it, then. The Captain probably figured he could find his pleasure in any port, if you didn’t suit.”

“Ooh! If I were a man—!” she seethed, her face hot with blood. They stood so close! Almost nose to nose. She smelled cloves on his breath. Physical energy radiated off him like a planetary comet. Fighting to compose her rapid heart rate, she ordered, “Let me pass, sir!”

His mouth twitched with cynical amusement. He stood down and let her gain the top deck, where she stood waiting for him to come topside.

The chill harbor winds whipped around her, and she clutched her cloak tightly about her. Her skirt and petticoats flapped against her legs, as she watched him stride toward her with menacing purpose.

She stood her ground, refusing to let him know how strangely the fiery light in his eyes affected her. “I have no intention of putting up with your insults,” Rosalyn told him through clenched teeth. “I don’t know your name, but you will not set sail on the Fair Winds in my employ. Now pack your gear, and get off this ship!”

She gestured imperiously toward the boarding ramp.

“You forget. I’m Captain here. The chain of command automatically passed to me when the Old Man died.” He smiled with infuriating calm, his dimples only making him appear more devilish and despicable in her eyes.

“That gives you no right—” She snatched up a belaying pin. Trembling, she tried to screw up her courage to strike him.

Deftly he relieved her of it and, keeping a steady hold on her arm, tossed the pin to a man standing slightly to port. “A spitfire! Much better! For a second, I thought the Old Man had taken complete leave of his senses by marrying you.”

Rosalyn gazed up into his hard, cynical expression, trying to read his thoughts. His eyes seemed to pierce right through her. She jerked free, strands of her chestnut hair blowing wildly from beneath her black veil.

“Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely. “And what right have you to speak to me with such familiarity?”

He threw back his head and laughed, but his voice held no sense of enjoyment. Only bitterness, arrogance and cruel derision. “Why, I’m Grant Watermann, the Old Man’s eldest son.” He rocked forward to smile nastily in her face. “Does that mean I should call you ‘Mother?’”