they’d both get away with the deception.
Now, remembering a pair of steely grey eyes, Marisa shivered, preferring not to think of the consequences if they were discovered. If only she could contrive to stay out of his way! She could pretend to be seasick as Donald had suggested. She suddenly recalled her dream of being made to walk the plank, and she shivered again.
She heard the sound of raised voices and activity on deck and tried to control the dangerous direction her thoughts were taking. What kind of man was he, the cold-eyed stranger who had taken his brutal pleasure of her unwilling body and then promptly wanted to be rid of her?
His name was Dominic Challenger. What conceit, to name his ship after himself! Or was it the other way around? Donald had been mysterious on that point, although he had talked freely of some of the adventures they’d shared. They had been common sailors on an English man-of-war at one time, and had deserted, sailing off with a French ship that had been taken as a prize. No doubt the English themselves would have called it mutiny! But now “the captain” as Donald called him, commanded an American privateer, a fast schooner with rakish masts, meant for preying on other vessels. A pirate ship, no matter what kind of flag she flew and in spite of the fact that this same ship had brought the new American ambassador to Spain.
“Ah, something’s up, but it’s not my place to ask,” Donald had admitted. “We’ve had conferences in Washington—once with the president himself! But now don’t you be repeating anything I’ve told you, mind, for the captain doesn’t take kindly to other folks prying into his affairs.”
Well! As if she cared for anything except getting safely to France and finding her aunt again, or maybe her godmother. France was different now under the consulate, and she’d learned that they’d just signed a peace treaty with England—the Treaty of Amiens. Paris must be as gay again as it had been before the revolution. Gay enough for her to lose herself—or find herself—if this Captain Challenger didn’t find her out first.
The thought that he might discover her made Marisa remember her instructions, and with a hurried glance around the tiny cabin, she heaved herself onto one of the narrow, uncomfortable bunks, and pulled a dirty brown blanket over herself. Her head felt light, without the heavy, familiar weight of her hair. A few moments earlier, the reflection of her own face in the porthole had given her a start. She did look like a boy, after all; her face was all eyes and her figure far too slender, without the well-defined curves that Blanca had been so proud of possessing. In the loosely fitting, raggedy garments of a peasant lad, no one would take her for a young woman unless they looked very closely.
The ship began to sway quite alarmingly, and the shouting and movement on deck seemed to have intensified. Remembering that all she’d had to eat that day was a piece of hard bread and a slice of goat cheese, Marisa swallowed convulsively and closed her eyes very tightly. Perhaps it would not be necessary to pretend that she was seasick. Already, she had begun to feel slightly nauseated and quite dizzy; and a cold sweat broke out all over her body, in spite of the hot, close atmosphere inside the cabin. Oh, she must have been mad to have forced poor Donald into agreeing to this crazy plan! She wondered vaguely if she would ever live to feel dry land beneath her feet again and drew her knees up under her chin, like a small, frightened child, willing the discomfort in her belly to go away.
5
The schooner Challenger put out to sea under full sail, with a crew of forty-eight men, instead of the fifty she was supposed to carry. Her captain, coming on board late, was in an exceptionally unpleasant mood, a thunderous frown drawing his black brows together as the first mate, Mr. Benson, bellowed orders and the men scurried to obey them without the usual joking and ribald banter.
Waiting only until she had cleared the harbor and was ploughing her way through the first rolling breakers of the Atlantic Ocean, Dominic Challenger turned and made his way to his cabin, throwing a curt word of command over his shoulder as he went that caused Mr. Benson and Donald McGuire to exchange guilty, conspiratorial looks as they followed him.
“Well?” The captain seated himself in a chair behind a desk that held an untidy collection of maps, charts, and other papers, all of which were held in place by a collection of pistols of varying sizes and shapes. “Perhaps you’ll explain why we’re short two hands—and why discipline always seems to go to hell when I’m not aboard this ship! You were to be prepared and in readiness to sail at precisely four this afternoon. Those were my orders four weeks ago.” He stared at Donald, and his grey eyes turned to a metallic steely color in the light that poured in through a large porthole.
“And you—can it be that you found some reason to dally along the way you took in getting here? I understand that I arrived in port hard on your heels.”
As his eyes went from one red face to the other, Dominic found himself wondering casually how it was that these two, who had always been each other’s enemy, had suddenly turned into allies. Or so it seemed…
Benson was a Methodist, a follower of the fiery and controversial preacher John Wesley. And Donald, as he well knew, was an uncompromising Calvinist. Usually the two men argued for hours, almost coming to blows, over various points of doctrine. Today they both seemed filled with brotherhood. He wondered if his own escapades during the time he had spent ashore had united them in the common bonds of disapproval. If so, be damned to them both, with their long faces!
He waited for them to speak, and seniority took precedence.
“Sir!” Mr. Benson said gruffly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck. “You did not give me time to explain the situation—sir. Begging to report that Parrish went on shore without leave a week ago, and, being in a disgustingly drunken state when he attempted to return, he fell into the water off a pier, and was discovered drowned. And as for young Ames—” here Benson’s face reddened, and he appeared on the verge of apoplexy “—he—ran away, captain. With a woman old enough to be his mother, too! She used to sell fish and fresh fruit in the market place. And then one day she wasn’t there. I sent Jenkins on shore to look for Ames, and he came back with a garbled message….”
Benson regarded fornication as a crime only slightly less serious than murder and drunkenness. For himself, he never drank and was not interested in shore leave or gambling or any of the other vices that sailors were wont to indulge in. He had planned, at one time, to become a fire-and-brimstone preacher himself, until one day a press gang had caught him. Now, he was just as single-minded in his hatred of the English Navy as he was in his attempts to convert the men under his command.
Dominic had caught himself wondering more than once if perhaps Benson did not secretly cherish a fondness for young men, but if he did, he was not overt about it, and all that mattered was that he was a good sailor and an excellent mate—cool-headed in times of danger. Young Ames had been something of a protégé of Benson’s—no wonder he was upset.
Captain Challenger had had far too much wine to drink the previous night, which had something to do with his bad mood. He had literally lost his shirt at cards and had ended up, in spite of all his stern resolutions, in the queen’s own bed. Just as well he had planned to leave Spain today! She was a savage, insatiable lover, and his back still bore the marks of her long, sharp nails.
There was a dull pounding in his temples, and he craved sleep; and so when Benson began to explain that he had personally hired a new cabin boy, a Spanish orphan who had relatives in France who would be glad to take him in, Dominic merely waved an impatient hand.
Dry-voiced, he asked, “I suppose the brat doesn’t even speak English! And why wasn’t he on deck when we sailed?”
“Well—” Looking
