My Seaswept Heart Page 8

  When the lower half of his face was coated in a gray film he dumped a small bag on his pillow, the one bare spot on the bed, and sorted through until he found a razor. That, too, he seemed to view as a prize before scuffling back to the mirror and proceeding to shave.

  Anne watched all this with a speculative eye, wondering if she were dismissed and what the captain wanted her for in the first place. For the better part of five minutes the only sounds were the lap of waves against the hull, the creak of timbers, and the scrape of razor against chin. Just when Anne decided that she would simply open the door and slip into the passageway he spoke.

  “What made ye decide to join our crew, Andy?”

  The question was so unexpected Anne couldn’t think of an answer. She hemmed. She hawed. She caught his eye as he stared at her in the looking glass.

  “There must have been a reason, for a lad your age to go on account. Since we didn’t pull you off another vessel, I just wondered what it was.”

  “Adventure,” Anne blurted out and saw the captain nod. He was shaving his cheek and twisted his mouth to the side.

  “Adventure, eh. Well, there’s plenty of that to be sure.” His upper lip was next, and Jamie said nothing more until that was free of soap and whiskers. “But then there be times when a pirate ship isn’t the safest place.” He paused and turned, half of his face still covered in bubbles, to face Anne. “Like this afternoon.”

  Anne swallowed. “I’m not afraid of a bully.”

  The pirate grinned, then resumed his shaving. “Well said, but perhaps a bit foolhardy. There are bullies it’s wise to fear. And to stay clear of.”

  As Joe had told her. Anne shrugged her shoulders inside the too-large coat. “I do my best.”

  “I’m sure ye do, lad. But if your best ever isn’t enough, I want ye to let me know.” Satisfied with the reflection staring back at him, Jamie walked to the tub, bent over and rinsed away the remaining soap. He reached for the towel around his waist to dry his face but before he could unfasten it something was thrust into his hand. He looked down at one of his shirts offered by Andy. With a shrug he wiped at his cheeks and chin.

  When he glanced up Anne couldn’t help staring. Without his layer of whiskers the pirate was, well, handsome... almost beautiful. She’d known there was a certain appeal about him. But this! His cheekbones were strong, his nose straight, and the mouth... Unbidden by the fringe of whiskers, it was wide and sensual.

  “Are ye understanding what I’m saying to ye, lad?”

  “What? Ah... er... aye. Stay away from Stymie,” Anne finally managed to blunder out. He had a cleft in his chin that she forced herself to ignore as she averted her eyes.

  “Be ye all right, lad?” Jamie tossed the damp shirt over his shoulder and approached the boy, stopping only when he cringed away, turning his head and looking as if he wanted to meld with the bulwark.

  Jamie lifted his hand to touch the filthy knit cap covering his head, thinking better of it when he heard the whimper. “I’ll not hurt ye, lad.” Jamie waited for him to glance up and when he didn’t, retraced his steps. It was obvious the poor boy was terrified. And after Stymie’s advances this day, he probably had a right to be.

  Jamie took a deep breath wishing he could rid his ship of Stymie and his cohorts... knowing he couldn’t. “Be off with ye then,” he said as he started looking for a clean pair of breeches. “But keep your guard up.”

  Not giving him a chance to rescind his order, Anne scurried out the door. She rushed forward along the passageway without paying attention to where she was, hurrying past the ladder leading above deck. Something skittered in front of her. She recognized the rodent’s squeak, but it was too dark to see much. On either side of her were shelves jammed with rope. Though the air was dank and chilled, sweat rolled down her back and between her breasts.

  The sloop rolled and Anne’s stomach did the same, sending her lurching forward. It had been days since she was bothered by the seasickness and she hoped she’d felt the last of it. But apparently the pressure of being so close to Captain MacQuaid did more than give her trembling hands.

  Anne stayed below for as long as she thought she could. It was dark, and she had no way to know the time. And though she had hunger pangs, food wasn’t something she wished for now with her stomach acting up. Especially not the kind of swill served up on the Lost Cause.

  Crunched up beside a coil of damp rope, her chin resting on her raised knees, Anne imagined what it would be like if she took over the galley. A little organization would go a long way toward making the finished product more appetizing.

  From there her mind wandered to the captain’s quarters. Such a mess she’d never seen. If he simply spent a few minutes... perhaps it would take more than a few minutes... cleaning and putting away his things, there would be much less clutter. He could run the ship more efficiently.

  Tucking her chin she rubbed an itch on her nose with her woolen-covered knee. When she lifted her head again a smile curved her lips. What was she doing trying to plan ways for a pirate to manage his ship better? Well if it helped him catch d’Porteau she supposed it would be all right.

  With a sigh Anne settled her head onto the rope. The next thing she knew she heard sounds coming as if from far away. It was like a dream but when she opened her eyes, she could still hear them. By the feel of her neck when she tried to straighten it she’d been asleep for some time. She was stiff and chilled to the bone, glad for once that she wore a heavy jacket and woolen cap.

  Anne blinked, looking around and trying to remember where she was and why. And how she could get back up on deck. She’d been so upset after she left the captain’s cabin that she hadn’t really watched where she was going. And now it was black as pitch around her.

  But she could still hear the voices, a mere mumbling off behind her so she carefully slid off the grated shelf where she sat. Her shoes sloshed in some bilge water and she cringed as it seeped through the leather and oozed around her toes. Oh, she would be so glad to be off this floating torture chamber.

  Using her hands to guide her she moved along the gangway toward the voices. They were getting louder and she was tempted to call out, but something kept her from it. She wasn’t sure what. Anne finally decided it was the darkness making her feel so spooky. After all, she intended to show herself when she reached whoever was talking.

  At least she thought she would. But when Anne crept around a corner, piled high with barrels and saw the men sitting around the single candle she changed her mind. Holding her breath she sidled back into the shadows and pressed against the bulwark.

  She could hear them more plainly now, though they were mumbling and obviously trying to keep their voices down. She didn’t know all their names, only Stymie’s, but she’d seen most of them on the ship and she knew instinctively to steer clear of them. Her glance at the cluster was so brief she didn’t know exactly how many men there were but she guessed there to be nearly a dozen. And right now they seemed to be arguing about something.

  “I say we do it now.”

  “Aye, now it is,” Anne heard several more agree. It sounded as if the majority would win, in true Locke tradition, whatever they were discussing until she heard the voice of the dissenter.

  Stymie.

  “And how are we to get the weapons?” The question sounded logical enough. It was the tone that made the skin on Anne’s neck seem to crawl.

  “From the guardhouse,” one answered logically, to be joined by a chorus of support.

  “Aye, we’ll break down the blasted door and help ourselves.”

  “And how many of us will get ourselves killed in the process?” The chilling voice of reason pierced the rowdy cheers. “I’ve no desire to go up against the cap’n, and get me head blown off.”

  “Yea, we noticed.”

  This was followed by enough snickers that Anne knew the pirates were remembering Stymie’s reaction this morning. Anne was close to smiling herself when a loud bang made her gasp. Flatt
ening herself against the boards, she waited, deathly still, half expecting to be discovered, only to realize the noise had nothing to do with her. Stymie apparently took exception to being the butt of mirth and slammed something down.

  Whatever it was it effectively quieted the group. The silence seemed to permeate the hold, making the pounding in her chest sound deafening. Just when she thought she would burst if she didn’t take a breath, Stymie spoke.

  “Any man here who thinks he can take on the cap’n will die like the fool he is.” He sniffed and Anne could imagine him lifting his burly shoulders. “But there be more than one way to be rid of ’em.”

  Anne wrapped her arms about her waist.

  “But when? How?”

  Anne leaned her ear closer to the crack between the barrels.

  “Leave the when and how ta me. But know ’twill be soon.” There was the grating sound of wood against wood, and Anne shrunk back as small as she could. “Now get along, the lot ’a ye, ’fore Cap’n MacQuaid comes lookin’ ta tuck ye into yer beds with a lullaby.”

  This brought a chorus of chortles, amid the shuffling of feet and cracking of bones too long settled on damp wood.

  The light slowly faded and Anne silently slid her back down the bulwark until she hit the decking. She’d heard enough to know that Captain MacQuaid and her mission were in grave danger.

  The question was, what should she do about it? Surely the captain knew Stymie didn’t like him. The expression on the man’s face this morning was clear enough for even an idiot to read. And she didn’t think Jamie MacQuaid was an idiot.

  Then why did he keep Stymie and the others among his crew?

  Of course he didn’t know about their plot of mutiny. Only she was privy to that information.

  Just in case one of the conspirators had stayed to make certain no one overheard their plans, Anne made herself count slowly to one hundred. She peeked out around the kegs, thankful no one was there, then cautiously made her way out of the hold. Once in the passageway she blinked her eyes against the glare of the stubby candle smoking in its iron holder. After glancing around she rushed toward the hatch.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Aw, Momma, let me sleep a bit more,” Joe mumbled, then jerked awake, the whites of his eyes wide in the moonglow. “Stymie?”

  “No, it’s Andy.” Anne whispered. She reached out and touched the boy’s arm, sorry she hadn’t taken more care with waking him. He trembled beneath her fingers.

  When he moved over she squeezed into the space they shared between the extra cordage and some torn sails.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Didn’t,” he lied before scrunching back down and resting his check on folded hands. “Just startled me, s’all.” His lids closed.

  “Joe, wait. Don’t go back to sleep. I have to talk to you.”

  One eye opened. “Where ye been? Looked for ye at supper!”

  “That’s not important.” Anne pushed up and looked about nervously. Several pirates were on deck, the mid-watch, but they didn’t seem to be paying her any mind. But she wasn’t taking any chances. Anne lowered her voice. “I need for you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  Joe obviously wasn’t as sensitive to the need for secrecy. Anne pressed her finger to his lips. “I want you to tell the captain something.”

  Joe wriggled down onto his blanket. “Ask me in the mornin’.”

  “No.” Anne shook his skinny arm. “You have to do it now.”

  Joe’s eyes popped open again. “Ye mean ye want me to go below and wake ’em up? Wake up Cap’n MacQuaid?”

  “Exactly.”

  “He’d have me hide, for sure.”

  “No, no, he won’t. Listen...” Since the boy showed no signs of sitting up, Anne lay down beside him. “There’s a plot afoot to take over the ship.” She had to clamp her hand over Joe’s mouth when he whooped his surprise. “Will you be quiet?”

  Rising on her elbows, Anne checked to see if the outburst sparked anyone’s attention. The sailor closest to them appeared to have drifted off to sleep. Anne could only hope d’Porteau’s vessel didn’t break the horizon during his watch.

  Joe was wide awake now, sitting and full of questions. But at least he kept his voice low. “Who told ye? What is they gonna do? ’Tis Stymie, isn’t it?”

  Now it was Anne’s turn to open her eyes in surprise. “What makes you think that?”

  Joe’s shrug didn’t seem careless. “He’s a bad ’un.”

  Anne could only nod in agreement. “And you’re right. He’s one of them. Actually, I believe he’s their leader.”

  “Who else?”

  “Truthfully, I don’t know. Perhaps, I’d recognize their voices...” Anne bit her lower lip. “But I can’t be sure. Anyway.” She brushed aside that problem with a sweep of her hand. “I think the captain should know.”

  “Well, why don’t ye tell him?”

  Why didn’t she indeed? Anne had a perfectly logical reason, but she didn’t think she could share it with Joe. She didn’t know how he’d take an admission that she was really a female, and needed to keep her distance from Captain MacQuaid lest he recognize her.

  “I just can’t, is all.” Anne sucked in her breath. “You’ve known him longer than I. He’s more likely to believe you.”

  Joe seemed to find that explanation acceptable for he bent forward. “So tell me,” was all he said.

  “When do ye think they’ll try it?” Joe asked when Anne finished running through most of the details. She didn’t tell him that she ran from the captain’s cabin to hide in the afterhold.

  “I told you I don’t know.” Anne paused. “They don’t know. But it could be anytime. And I think the captain should be made aware of this.”

  Joe rubbed his jaw. In the moonlight he looked older than his ten years. “I better go tell ’em.”

  Though her muscles cried for rest Anne couldn’t settle down after Joe scurried off in the darkness. She wriggled this way and that, trying to get comfortable, even though she was too nervous to sleep.

  Would the captain believe Joe? Would he know what to do? Anne sighed and stretched out her legs. Wearing breeches gave her welcome freedom of movement, but she’d sacrifice it all for a bath and a night on a down-filled mattress.

  That was the thought in her head when Joe plopped down beside her. Anne jerked onto her knees facing him. “Well, what did he say?”

  “Before or after he striped me back with his whip?”

  Anne’s lips thinned. “You look none the worse for wear to me. And come to think of it I don’t believe Captain MacQuaid even has a whip.”

  “Maybe he don’t, but he sure threatened to use one on me when I first went poundin’ on his door.”

  “Simply a reaction to being awakened, I’m sure.” Anne sidled closer. “You did tell him, didn’t you?”

  “Aye. But I think it were a waste ’a me time.” Joe gave Anne a none too gentle shove and sprawled out on the deck. “He didn’t seem ta set much store by it.”

  “What? You mean he didn’t believe you?”

  Joe shrugged off the hand on his arm. “Oh, he didn’t doubt me none. Just acted as if it weren’t no big deal. Said there’s always malcon... malcon...”

  “Malcontents,” Anne supplied without thinking.

  “Aye, that’s what he said. There’s always them on a ship who wants ta take over, but it weren’t nothin’ to worry ’bout.” With that he turned over, showing Anne his back and growling, “Go ta sleep and leave me be,” when Anne tried to roust him.

  Frustrated, Anne slumped back against the coiled rope. What was she to do now? She hadn’t eavesdropped on a group of grumblers who planned to do nothing about their grievances. They were serious, especially Stymie, about a mutiny. They planned to get rid of Captain MacQuaid. And even if Anne didn’t need him to find d’Porteau and Arthur, she couldn’t imagine being on board the sloop with Stymie in charge. It was bad enough just trying to stay out of
his way.

  Perhaps she’d simply go to the captain herself and convince him the threat was real. Except how many times could she be around him and hope that he didn’t recognize her? She’d been lucky so far. Deciding there was nothing more to be done tonight, Anne settled down on her blanket and fell asleep.

  The next morning dawned as bright as the Caribbean sun and early for Anne who slept but a few hours. She stretched, noticing that she was alone in the little alcove of space and went in search of Joe. She found him aft, leaning against the windlass, crunching on a biscuit.

  “Thought ye was gonna sleep the day away,” he said, barely glancing her way, but reaching in his pocket and offering her a biscuit.

  Anne took it and with an inward shrug jammed it into her jaw and broke off a bite. She already learned these delicacies were not easily broken by front teeth. “I was tired,” she said around her food. With a yawn she slid down beside the boy. “What are you doing?”

  “Keepin’ watch.”

  Anne followed his gaze. First in view came Stymie sitting on his haunches with three other men. They were playing a game, each tossing a knife into a circle and seeing who came closer to hitting a piece of sailing. So far none had succeeded.

  Beyond them, on the quarterdeck, stood the captain. He was leaning against the rail, looking out to sea, his back toward Anne and Joe... and Stymie.

  “I figure, if the cap’n won’t watch out for hisself, then I’ll have to do it.”

  Anne turned toward the boy, her eyes wide. “Then you’re not mad about last night?”

  “Nay.” Joe grinned. “I just ain’t me best when someone wakes me.”

  Anne smiled back, then her expression sobered. “I better talk to Captain MacQuaid. Perhaps he’ll listen to me.”

  “Doubt it.” Joe took another bite of his breakfast. “But go ahead and try if’n ye like. I’m tellin’ ye he just ain’t scared of Stymie.”

  By the end of the day Anne was thinking Joe’s assessment was correct. The two kept their watch over the captain every time they weren’t called upon to do anything... and on this boat that was nearly all the time. Captain MacQuaid went about his duties and a considerable amount of rest time, with seemingly not a care in the world.