Elizabeth Meyette - [Love's 01] (5 page)

“A sailor’s day starts early, Andrew. You had better get some rest or you will be of no use to me,” Jonathon gently chided.

“If you will excuse me, Captain, I will also retire,” Mr. Gates said.

“Of course, Mr. Gates. Good night to you both.” He turned to Emily, “May I interest you in a stroll before you retire, Emily?”

“Thank you, Captain Brentwood. That would be fine.”

As agreeable as supper had been in Jonathon’s cabin, the night was exquisite and Emily was happy to be out on deck. Stars were splashed across the sky like diamonds across black velvet, and a gentle breeze came from the southwest. Emily took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I love the sea,” she said as they walked along.

“You are your father’s daughter,” Jonathon laughed.

“How did you meet my father?”

“George and I had seen each other many times in many ports. Our paths seemed destined to cross,” Jonathon mused. “I came across the
Spirit
being set upon by two pirate ships. They were either side of her, and she was hard-pressed to defend herself, let alone attack. We had the element of surprise on our side, and, together with the
Spirit
, we sank both pirate ships. Your father was seriously injured and the
Spirit
badly in need of repair. We brought George aboard the
Destiny
and Mr. Gates, a man of many talents, doctored him. Your father then rested with us while the
Spirit
was in port for repairs. We had long nights of discussion finding many similar likes and convictions. I admired your father a great deal, Emily. From then on when we met ashore, we made a point of continuing our friendship. He spoke of you and Andrew at length; he was very proud of you both, although he admitted that you could be a ‘spirited vixen’,” he laughed softly.

Emily lifted her chin and looked away. “I thank you for helping him, Captain. He never spoke of the incident. We owe you a great deal it would seem, and all you get for your kindness is another burden.” She leaned against the rail and looked out at the sea. Emily did not like this feeling of indebtedness and wished somehow that she could free herself from the bond that tied her to this man. George Wentworth had prided himself on being a self-made man, answerable to no one. He had stressed the importance of independence to both of his children. Now, helpless to free herself of this shackle, she began to see how important that feeling of independence was.

Jonathon stood next to her leaning sideways against the rail, studying her profile. “You owe me nothing, Emily, but I would ask one favor.”

She stared ahead. What would he ask? Legally he held everything of hers, her property, and any wealth she might have inherited. What else was there for her to give? Suddenly Mrs. Dennings’s disapproving face loomed in her mind, and her cheeks took on a reddish hue. Angrily she turned to him.

“Just what do you propose, sir?” she asked indignantly. “You see, I own very little with which to bargain. You hold everything material I have.”

Realizing her train of thought, Jonathon’s gaze started at her face and lazily ran the full length of her. Emily pulled her cape closer, feeling as if he had seen through every article of clothing she was wearing.

“You think me a rake, Miss Wentworth,” he stated. “What you value so highly is not to what I refer.” His eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Oh!” she snapped, her eyes blazing. She turned back to the railing, her lips set in a tight line.

“No, Emily, the favor I ask is this — that you give Virginia a chance. Look at her with an open heart; she is beautiful, Em. She is wild and spirited. Give her a chance.”

The breeze teased the curls around Emily’s face and her blue eyes searched Jonathon’s.

“That is what you would ask of me?” she whispered.

Jonathon was caught with her beauty. No, she was not George Wentworth’s “Little Em” anymore. She was fast becoming that mature, independent woman she had hoped would rescue her from this situation. He had best watch himself or she might convince him, too. The tender look on her face tempted him sorely and her soft, full lips, parted in question, begged to be kissed. The feelings she was beginning to stir in him made Jonathon uneasy.

“That is all for now, Miss Wentworth,” he leered roguishly, breaking the spell.

“You are insufferable,” she retorted and turning, walked quickly to her cabin. The sound of his laughter floated behind her on the breeze.

• • •

The weeks passed smoothly with continued good winds and fair weather. Jonathon was finding it more and more difficult to be around Emily in such close proximity without being affected by her beauty. The sun had lightened her hair to a golden radiance, and, though she was careful to shade it, her complexion was imbued with a healthy, tanned glow. She had adjusted her gait to the motion of the ship, but it did not hide the lithe grace with which she moved. Jonathon was not the only man on board who paused in his labors to watch her progress along the deck. But the men were respectful to her and tried to make her voyage as comfortable and amiable as possible, many entertaining her with stories and pleasantries just for the reward of her dimpled smile. One evening when it rained lightly, the crew tripped over each other setting out buckets to catch the rainwater for her bath. Jonathon good-naturedly watched his men do this, but there was an unspoken law that no man would cross the line to questionable behavior.

Jonathon puzzled over his role as Emily’s guardian. What she had said that first night he had met her was true — she was a woman, not a child. Yet, there was an innocence about her that wanted protecting. He was aware of a growing feeling of attachment to both Andrew and Emily. The promise he had made to George was sacred to him, and he would see it through as best he could, in spite of Emily’s protests.

Emily’s awareness of Jonathon was no less marked. She covertly watched him from behind lowered lashes as he stood at the helm directing the men, who would snap into action at a word. Though the crew was well trained, there was a pride each man held in his own worth that Jonathon had helped to instill. They were a loyal crew, he a demanding yet fair captain.

He was not above throwing himself into a task if needed, and Emily watched him once when the wind shifted suddenly requiring swift action. He stripped to his breeches and sprang in with the others to get the ship on an even keel. His broad chest was matted with thick, curly hair, and the muscles in his arms and back rippled with strength as he adjusted the rigging. His long, solid legs stood firm as he braced them against the deck. The men around him scrambled to their tasks following his orders, and soon the
Destiny
was clipping along in full accord with the wind. Jonathon turned and, too late, Emily lowered her eyes. A devilish grin spread across his face as he sauntered toward her.

“Are you so enamored of me that I am not safe from your scrutiny?” he teased.

“Captain Brentwood, I was interested only in the working of your ship.” She turned so that he could not see the rosy hue that diffused across her cheeks.

“I am disappointed. I thought it was I you were appraising. Is there any hope that one day I will favorably catch your eye, my lady? Dare I hope for an ardent look, a gentle touch, mayhap a stolen kiss from one such as lovely as she who tempts me from afar?” He leaned toward her and whispered, “Will I stand a chance against all those eligible young men in Virginia who will clamor about you for your slightest word, a glance from those eyes that challenge the beauty of the finest sapphire?”

Emily’s cheeks darkened as he spoke and she tried to quell the pleasurable feeling his words evoked. His breath brushed her ear and sent shivers down her spine.

“Excuse me, Captain; it is becoming quite windy up here.” Not turning to look at him, she hurried to her cabin.

• • •

Spring on the Atlantic sometimes brought extremes in the weather. Once the drizzle that bade them farewell from London had ceased, they were blessed with fair weather for two weeks. But as the third week began, clouds moved in and the sea took on a churning, surging disquiet. Everyone around Emily was caught up with securing the ship for what promised to be a severe storm.

Lightning flashed in the distant clouds, and the remote rumble of thunder caused urgency in movement among the crew. Jonathon hurried across the deck to Emily, a look of concern creasing his brow.

“You had best go below, Emily. It is dangerous to be about during a storm at sea,” he said.

Emily felt anxious, but she did not want Jonathon to sense her fear.

“As you wish, Captain.”

The tossing ship made it difficult for her to remain seated comfortably anywhere in her cabin. Her heart pounded, and she kept wiping the sweat from the palms of her hands as she awkwardly paced the length and breadth of her quarters. In spite of herself, Emily began to wonder what her father’s thoughts and feelings were as his ship was beset by that fatal storm. She pictured him bravely giving orders, urging his men on, boosting their morale. She closed her eyes and ground her fists against them at the thought of him being swept into the sea. It was a vision she had been fighting for a month or more, and, try as she would to erase it, it haunted her waking and sleeping.

Fear gripped Emily and she decided to join Andrew in his cabin. She steadied herself along the walls as she made her way to his quarters, pausing when the ship lurched, then moving on. She knocked at his door and, getting no answer, rapped louder and called his name. Receiving no reply, she entered his room and proved her growing fear. He was not there. She spun about and ran toward the ladder. Clambering up it, she lost her balance when the
Destiny
dipped suddenly. She regained her footing and sped to the main deck.

Drenching rain combined with the waves that spilled over the sides of the ship and made the deck dangerously slippery. She searched for her brother, but rain-soaked men with dripping hair and clothes that clung to their bodies were everywhere. Lightning streaked across the murky sky as thunder deafened Emily’s call. She quickly, but cautiously, explored the entire deck, jostling among the men, trying to keep her footing. Suddenly a firm grip encircled her arm and swung her around.

“You little fool! Did I not tell you to get below?” Jonathon yelled above the din. His sodden clothes clung to his lean form and his hair dripped down his face and neck.

“Where is Andrew?” she cried.

“Where he belongs, in his cabin,” Jonathon bellowed.

“No, he is not! I was just there!” she wailed in dismay.

Jonathon cursed. “Get below. I will find him and order him down, too,” he shouted and swiftly turned and left. Emily started for the quarterdeck but was stopped by a sudden loud crack. Looking up to where the sound came from, she screamed in horror. Andrew was high up the mizzenmast; it had just snapped and was tumbling toward the raging sea.

Everything seemed to happen slowly, as if in a dream, Emily’s agonized scream hovering in the air before her. The mast seemed to drift downward, then caught for a moment, and it seemed Andrew would fall to the deck — a long fall, but at least safe from the angry ocean.

Emily ran forward, but it was as though she was caught in a nightmare. Her slippers lacked traction on the rain-soaked deck, and she made no headway. The slick wood made her feet slide from underneath her, and she fell with a thud that knocked her breath from her.

“Andrew!” she tried to scream, scrambling toward where he was falling. Then she watched in horror as the mast snapped completely, and the sea claimed Andrew.

Jonathon saw what had happened also, and stripping hastily, he kept his eyes on the spot where Andrew entered the water. Grabbing a sturdy rope, he tied it about his waist while some men secured the other end to a winch. Tucking a knife between his teeth, he dove into the roiling water and was lost beneath the waves.

Emily regained her footing and scrambled to her feet clutching the railing for support. She desperately scanned the ocean’s surface. Soon, she caught sight of Jonathon’s dark hair bobbing in the ocean close to where Andrew was struggling to stay afloat. Long, powerful strokes brought Jonathon to the boy quickly, but Andrew was caught in the rigging that stretched to the ship like an enormous, tangled spider’s web. Jonathon deftly cut the ropes that bound Andrew, but in the process, sliced his own hand. He wrapped his arm about the youth who was weakening fast, and some of the men began to pull them toward the
Destiny
.

Shock and exertion overcame Andrew, and he lost consciousness. The icy water had cooled his body to a pale, deathly hue, and when they lifted him onto the deck, Emily was sure she had lost another loved one. Pain wrenched her heart and she felt as if her knees would buckle beneath her. Jonathon half climbed, half fell onto the deck and, weak and gasping, looked worriedly over at the boy.

Mr. Gates took charge ordering them both be taken below and cared for. He turned compassionately to the stricken girl whose limp hair hung dripping about her terrified face. Gently he wrapped his sodden cloak around her trembling shoulders and led her below.

• • •

Gates brought Emily into her cabin and urged her down on the chair.

“Get changed, child. You will need your strength to tend your brother.”

Blue-violet eyes searched his for proof of his lie. Finding none, she whispered, “You mean, he is not dead?”

“Near death, perhaps, but he is strong and healthy and with proper care, he will pull through,” he smiled. “But I shall need your help, Miss Wentworth. You must be strong for him,” he echoed her father’s words, then slipped from the cabin.

Emily sat dazed trying to comprehend that Andrew was alive. Shakily, she stripped off her wet clothes and, after toweling her hair, changed into a dry dress. The ship still rocked with the storm, but it seemed a little steadier now. The lightning and thunder were quieting their fearful tirade. Her strength reborn with the news of her brother, Emily hurried to his quarters.

Mr. Gates was there tending him, and Jonathon, still in his soaking breeches with a piece of cloth ripped from his shirt wrapped tightly around his hand to stanch the flow of blood, watched with concern. He did not notice Emily until she came to stand beside him to look down at Andrew. A deathly pallor suffused the boy’s face and his breathing was shallow. Mr. Gates was checking his pulse and layers of blankets lay over his slender frame.