Dawn on a Distant Shore (46 page)

Nathaniel put a hand
on her shoulder. "Make sure you watch yourself. Don't get caught alone
beldecks with any of them, you hear me?"

She studied her
thumbnail. "Except Hakim Ibrahim," she said. "And Charlie and Mungo."

"Even Charlie and
Mungo," said Curiosity. "I ain't sure either of them could stand up
to some of the rougher types I seen around here."

Hannah dropped her
gaze, and flushed. It was not like her at all, and it made Nathaniel uneasy.

He said, "It's a
dangerous game we're playing, and there's too many men on this ship to keep track
of."

She raised her face
and he saw that Curiosity had been right: she was frightened, and trying to
hide it.

"Come up on deck
with me," he said.

Hannah did not argue,
did not even speak a word until they were at the rail. He waited, because he
had no choice. If she was to tell him what was wrong, she would do it in her
own way. There were times when he thought he could see some of his own mother
in his daughter's face and it was there now: that same reluctance to bend, a
holding back that would bring her close to breaking.

She said, "Do you
know about hell?"

He hid his surprise as
best he could. "I know what the O'seronni believe about that place they
call hell. I've heard enough church talk in my time, and so have you."

She hesitated.
"Granny Cora believed in the O'seronni hell."

He had imagined all
kinds of trouble on the short walk up to the deck--men who put hands on her, or
tried to make her ashamed of the color of her skin--and this talk of damnation
put him off balance. He said, "Do you think you're headed for hell?"

She let out a great
sigh. "Not for me. I am not true O'seronni."

"Is it me you're
worried about, going to hell?"

That got a small
smile. "Your skin is white, but you are not O'seronni, either. But some say--"
She glanced around herself, and then stepped closer to him. "Some say that
the babies might ..."

Nathaniel drew in a
breath, and waited.

She looked resolutely
out over the water. "They might, if they are not baptized. Or if they are
baptized papist."

A slow flush began in
Nathaniel's belly and worked its way up to his chest. It was hard to draw a
normal breath, but he fought to control his voice. He put a hand on her arm and
turned her so he could look in her face.

"If there's a
Christian hell, then it's for the kind who would fill your head with such lies.
Do you hear me?"

Her face crumpled, and
she collapsed forward to put her face against his chest. She was mumbling, and
Nathaniel had to lean over to catch her meaning.

"... I thought he
might try to take them, to save them from hell. But then you came back, and I
thought they were safe."

"They are safe.
Squirrel, they are safe, and so are you. He will never come near any of you
again, I swear it."

She rubbed her wet
cheeks with the back of her hand, and he thought his heart would break, with
sorrow for her and with a terrible blind fury at the man who had brought her to
these tears. She drew in a wavering sigh.

"But she
watches."

"Who
watches?"

"His wife. Mrs.
MacKay. She watches the babies whenever we bring them on deck, and there's
something in her eyes, like a cat that's hurt bad and won't come near to have
her wounds tended. Maybe she thinks having the babies will fix whatever's wrong
inside her. I can almost see her thinking it. I think--I think her husband promised
them to her."

"The first
mate?" Nathaniel asked, his voice sounding high and far away. "Adam MacKay?"

She nodded. "Mrs.
MacKay watches and watches, and I'm worried that he might try to take them to
save their souls. And to save her."

Later, when Hannah had
gone off to bed, Curiosity said what they had all been thinking.

"Strong willed,
but she comes from a line of strong women, and it will serve her well, in the end."
She said this with a tired smile, and with a steady gaze in Elizabeth's
direction. "There's worse faults for a woman."

"Curiosity,"
said Nathaniel. "Don't back down now. You were right."

Elizabeth sat up very
straight, and put down her book. "Right about what, Nathaniel? Has someone
been bothering Hannah?"

He told them, and
watched their faces transform from surprise to anger.

"That
black-hearted bastard," said Curiosity. "Using God to scare a child. There
ain't nothing worse."

Elizabeth was pale.
"I should have paid more attention."

Curiosity waved a hand
in dismissal. "Never mind about that now. Go on and figure out what needs to
get done to put things right."

In the sky above the
Isis
,
the constellations were as clear as Elizabeth had ever seen: Dragon and Plough,
and to the east Cygnus, Lyra, and the Scorpion were rising. The very same stars
they would sleep under on hot summer nights at Lake in the Clouds. How strange
that they could be so far from home and still watch the same stars rise and
set, night by night; how little comfort they provided.

Nathaniel put an arm
around her. "What're you looking for up there?"

"Some sense of
order, I suppose. Something to explain Adam MacKay."

The anger in him
hummed; she could feel it in his arm, in his whole body.

"Can you let me
take care of it?"

The truth was, she did
not especially care what Adam MacKay's fate might turn out to be at Nathaniel's
hands.

"I'm afraid I'm
not quite so enlightened and rational as I once was," she said. "You
will do what you must."

"And so will
you."

"Of course."

She thought he would
be angry at her refusal to agree to stay out of this trouble, but he slipped
his arms around her from the back and kissed her jaw. His breath was warm at
her ear, and deep in her belly there was a quick blossoming of nerves. She
turned in his arms, and he came up tight against her.

"What have I done
to bring this on so suddenly?"

His lips at her ear,
and a shudder of gooseflesh rushed up along her spine.

"I like it when
you bare your teeth and get ready to fight," he said. "And then of
course you're breathing. That always does the trick, too."

Elizabeth laughed, and
he cut her off with a rough kiss, deep and immediate, his tongue touching hers.
When he broke away she put her hands on his shoulders.

"I'm sure the
bosun will find this all very enlightening, but--"

He pulled her into the
shadows and kissed her again. Elizabeth felt all her objections slipping away
when his hand grazed her breast. Then he stopped, and his eyes seemed very
large to her, and his expression suddenly guarded.

"The watch."

She hadn't heard the
footsteps, but the marine was upon them already. He walked on as if they were invisible;
enough time for Elizabeth to gather her wits. She went back to the rail, and Nathaniel
followed.

"So much
uncertainty and trouble, and still you can make me lose my head. It is most unprincipled
of me, given the circumstances." She said it aloud--a confession of sorts,
and one that sounded silly to her own ears.

Nathaniel laughed, a
dry laugh without conviction. "Only you can feel guilty about not feeling
miserable, Boots."

She was not miserable,
it was true. She had her children and her husband and Curiosity nearby, all in good
health. Now that they knew what was bothering Hannah, that could be made right.
There was every reason to believe that Hawkeye and Robbie were also well, if
not as comfortable on the
Jackdaw
in the company of Giselle Somerville
and Granny Stoker.

She was not miserable,
because she knew with complete certainty that there was some way for them to
get home, and Nathaniel would find it. She knew too that there was no way to
say this to him. She might find some peace in the here and now, but Nathaniel
would not be satisfied until he could act.

She put her cheek
against his shoulder. "Do you remember
The Tempest
? We read it
aloud last winter. One line stays with me these days: "Now would I give a
thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.""

"Ah," he
said. "I know you're feeling yourself when you start quoting."

She pushed him
playfully. "You once appreciated my quotes."

"I still do,
Boots." There was something of his old teasing tone in his voice,
something keen edged and welcome and she knew that he wanted to pick up where
they had left off just a few minutes ago, but the hatch opened and he stepped
away.

A shaggy blond head
appeared above bony shoulders.

"Mungo,"
said Elizabeth, letting out a small hiccup of relief. "Why are you up so late?"

The boy hesitated,
looking around himself as if he expected the quartermaster to jump out and box
his ears. When he was sure there was no danger he sought out Nathaniel's gaze,
as if to ask permission to come closer.

"Did you want to
talk?" Nathaniel asked.

The boy nodded and
came toward them, studying his feet with great interest. Mungo would go to
great lengths to be in Elizabeth's company--it was not the first time he had
sought them out so late at night. He had attached himself to her when they took
him aboard the
Jackdaw
.

"I've got a wee
somethin' for ye," he said, and brought out his hand from behind his back.
Elizabeth drew back in surprise, for he held some kind of blade there, dark of
color, long and slender.

"The neb o' a
swordfish," said Mungo, touching his own upturned nose to illustrate. "It's
gey sharp, missus. They swish it aboot tae kill squid and the like."

Elizabeth glanced at
Nathaniel and he lifted one brow at her, not quite concerned and a little intrigued.

"It is very kind
of you, Mungo, to think of us." He had wrapped the broader end in a piece
of rawhide and she took it gingerly between two fingers. From the tip to the
base it was as long as her arm.

"Did you catch
the fish yourself?"

"Och, ne. A gey
great monster, is a swordfish. The meat is richt tasty, forbye, bu' they fight
like the de'il."

Nathaniel bent over to
examine it more closely. "Where did you come by it?"

"A marine
harpooned him. He gave the neb tae ma brother Charlie, and Charlie gave it tae
me."

Elizabeth handed the
sword to Nathaniel and resisted the urge to wipe her hands on her handkerchief.
"Are you sure you want to part with such a treasure?"

Even in the near dark
the boy's blush was clear to see. He sent her a sidelong glance. "Ye were
kind tae me when I was injured, missus. I willna forget it."

Nathaniel asked,
"How's that bump on your head today?"

The boy touched his
forehead. "No' sae bad." He inched a little closer, still examining
his own feet. Elizabeth sensed that he would roll over like a puppy if she
patted his head.

"What's
that?" Nathaniel asked, turning sharply toward the west, where a rushing
noise seemed to come from the darkened sea.

"Sweet
Mary," breathed Mungo. "A falling star."

It arched across the
sky, its tail undulating in a blaze of white and yellow. The whole of it sizzled
as if the air around it were on fire, and it seemed to Elizabeth as wide as the
sky itself and as bright as the sun.

"White panther in
the sky," said Nathaniel, his voice hoarse with excitement.

"Aye," Mungo
whispered. "He roars."

It did roar, but more
faintly as the star spun to the east. They watched, the three of them focused
on the sight of it until the ferocious light disappeared into the sea.

Elizabeth said,
"Do you think anyone else saw it?"

"No," said
Nathaniel, still staring at the spot where it had disappeared. "The sign
was meant for us."

He looked down at her,
and for the first time in so many weeks he smiled, really smiled, his teeth sparkling
white in the dark.

"A sign,"
Elizabeth repeated. After more than a year with Nathaniel she was still
sometimes taken by surprise by his faith in things she would have once
dismissed summarily: unseen worlds; dreams that evoked truths beyond the ones
that could be dissected by reason; a sky that opened itself to offer faith and speculation.

"Is it a good
sign, then?"

"The best kind
before battle," Nathaniel said. He covered her hand and squeezed it hard.

Mungo glanced between
them. "Battle? Surely ye canna mean ye want tae fight Carryck."

Nathaniel nodded.
"If that's what it takes to get home."

The boy licked his lips
nervously, glanced up at the quiet sky and back to Nathaniel. He started to say
something and then stopped.