him?”
“I’m sorry, Mama. There was no one to help.” She tried to turn out of Katherine’s grasp. “Oh, why don’t I hear him? He was just here!”
At precisely that moment, Katherine spotted a pair of bare feet sticking out from among the cargo.
Anne’s lip trembled. “I know I shouldn’t have taken the keys from your drawer. I was so scared.”
Katherine hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, sweetling. I’m so sorry.” She never left Anne alone in high seas. Never. But they’d needed all hands on deck, and she’d promised herself it would just be this once, and she would come down to check...but she should have come sooner. She should never have left Anne in the first place. Wicked, wicked man, taking advantage of a little girl’s fear.
“Do you see him, Mama?” A tear tumbled down Anne’s cheek.
Katherine stared at his feet. “Shh...I will find him. Quickly, now, upstairs to safety. Give Mr. Bogles to me.” Sweet Anne was too innocent to know a man in Mr. Barclay’s condition did not rouse himself for the sake of a cat. Her jaw tightened. With any luck fate had already punished his attempt at insurrection, and she would no longer have to bother with him.
With Anne and Mr. Bogles safely shut inside Philomena’s cabin, Katherine hurried back to the hold. The ship heaved and rolled as she made her way quickly through the cargo and there he was, half-buried beneath a fallen pile of rope coils. If he was alive, she would shackle him more securely this time. And hide the keys more quietly.
She planted a boot on the pile and wrested the coils off him. “Mr. Barclay,” she called sharply. Perhaps he’d hoped to find munitions here in the hold. Distract the crew with his disappearance and gain the upper hand by threatening Anne’s life.
It would not have worked.
He lay sprawled on the coils with William’s tunic stretched a bit tightly across his shoulders. His tousled black hair with its silver streaks fell across his cheek and over his eyes. “Mr. Barclay.” She bent to check his pulse.
At her touch, he groaned and tried to rise. “Bloody hell,” he said, collapsing once again into the ropes. At least she would not have to explain his death to Anne.
“Get up! You’ve been foiled, and I haven’t the time to play nursemaid.” They needed her on deck. Punishing his foolishness would have to wait.
“For God’s sake, cut ’em off quickly,” he mumbled into his sleeve. He was delirious again, and little wonder. His eyes opened slightly. “Anne?” he rasped.
“Is upstairs and none of your concern. Now get to your feet— I want this lantern out of the hold before it shatters and sets my ship ablaze.” She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled. The ship rolled and he lurched to his feet, nearly toppling over. He was taller than he’d seemed. Broader. She braced herself against the water casks with his weight crushing her against them as the ship’s pitch threatened to throw them both to the floor. His breath labored near her ear and one large hand curled around the edge of a cask above her.
“Foolish man. You haven’t the strength to carry out this kind of plan.”
“Can’t insult a man—” he exhaled sharply when he finally found his feet “—with the truth.” He backed away from her and steadied himself against the casks. “Little bugger got free, then.” His breath came hard, as though it took all his strength to stand. “Didn’t—” he inhaled, exhaled “—take his prize, though.” He held out his other hand.
He held a strip of Mr. Bogles’s dried fish.
It wasn’t possible. In his condition, merely leaving her cabin would have been a feat. He would not have done this for a cat.
She didn’t want to consider that he might have done it for Anne.
She tried to slip the dried fish into her pocket, but her clothes were soaked so she tossed it aside. His eyes met hers, then dropped. Darkened. Shot away as he dragged in another breath.
She glanced down. Her sea-drenched clothes clung like a second skin to her breasts, and her nipples jutted hard through the wet fabric. Good God—even a brush with death wasn’t enough to cool this man’s lust. She allowed her lips to curve. “There’s no time for your lechery now, Mr. Barclay. You’ll have to control yourself. Can you walk?” He tried a step, but the ship’s heave and roll threw him off balance immediately. She caught him beneath the arm and tried to help.
“I’ve got it,” he said sharply, trying to steady himself as the lantern swung noisily from its hook above them. “Only let me hold...the casks.”
She let go. “Did you think you could hide from us here and gain some advantage?”
He worked his way along, out of breath and fighting to stay on his feet. “My plan to lure you into the hold...and ravish you...has gone disappointingly awry.”
“Insolent bastard.” Her clammy skin flushed unaccountably hot. “It’s no wonder you had trouble with Captain Warre.”
He grunted. “Stodgy old cuss...” They made it to the last of the casks, and he lurched toward the stairs. “Never did approve—” he dragged in a breath “—of ravishing.” His hands curled around the railing and he rested there, ashen-faced.
“Can you climb the stairs alone?”
His eyes swept their length, and he gave a nod.
“Then above and to bed,” she ordered in a tone she might have used with Anne. The man had lost his mind as well as his strength.
He pulled himself up the first step and glanced at her. “A tempting offer...Captain.”
A tempting— “Above!”
This was no demoted midshipman. He was an officer, or she’d swallow her cutlass. As soon as they were safely through the strait, she would instruct William to lock Mr. Barclay in the cabin André had occupied. And then she would force the truth from him.
THE TRUTH HAD to wait for two days while the lecherous Mr. Barclay, now occupying his new quarters, slept. Millicent fed him broth four times a day and ruthlessly shooed everyone else away.
They were safely through the strait with the storm long behind them, but the story of Mr. Barclay’s heroics would not die. Anne insisted on retelling it to everyone. Multiple times.
“Mama, may we go see him now? Please? Millicent says he’s awake.” Anne tugged on her sleeve. “Please, Mama. He’s better now.”
Apparently that was supposed to be good news. “In a moment, dearest.” Katherine dipped her quill, started to scratch another coordinate in her massive logbook, but veered away at the last moment and added another name to the scrap of paper that held the short list of people in Britain who might be able to help her. Lord De Lille. Hadn’t he been one of Papa’s friends?
Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: Damn me, Katie, there’s not a soul in all of
