Heart's Safe Passage (21 page)

She remained on the quarterdeck as Rafe strode aft, paused to speak to Riggs and then to Mel and Belinda, and continued on. At the top of the ladder, he hesitated, his gaze falling on Phoebe. She waited, hand on the taffrail, half expecting him to order her away.

He merely inclined his head, then sauntered toward her, one corner of his mouth tipped up. “Mrs. Lee, you look a wee bit less greasy since I last saw you.”

“I feel a bit less greasy.” She gave him a full smile.

“And you are well?” Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, speculation, even warmth? “Your head is a’right?”

“Well enough.” She dared touch his arm. “Thank you for the bathwater. I know it’s an imposition.”

“So is having you breaking a limb slipping on your own lard supply.” He didn’t draw away from her. “But I am thinking perhaps you should keep to your bed for a day or two to let the head heal.”

Phoebe shuddered. “I fare much better on deck.”

“Aye, an odd form of seasickness that is, to affect you only in the cabin.” Rafe glanced at Jordy. “Do keep a watch on Riggs. Jones is well subdued, but Riggs is trouble in the making.”

“’Tis a’ready been made, if you ask me.” Jordy growled the words.

“I did not ask you.”

“And Watt—”

“Nor about my—other senior crewman. Derrick will relieve you at the helm at the turn of the glass.”

The hourglass, whose dripping sand measured time, appeared half full on its stand atop the binnacle.

She should have waited another quarter hour. Derrick never stared at her as Jordy did, as though she meant Rafe harm. She didn’t. That letter was supposed to help him, protect him from himself if she failed.

She smiled up at him again. “Do you have a moment to walk with me, Captain?”

“I cannot think why you would wish to do so, Mrs. Lee.” He did not smile back.

“Because I’ve missed your company?”

Jordy snorted.

Rafe headed for the ladder, Phoebe beside him. “He does not approve of you aboard, you ken,” he said.

“I do know that. Neither does Watt.”

“And neither do you?” He assisted her to the deck, then began to walk along the weather rail where salt spray touched their faces, cold but not too much to chill—enough to refresh. For the first time since meeting them, Phoebe understood why Tabitha and Dominick enjoyed walks along the beach in the morning mist. The swirling damp air felt like a cloak sheltering them both together.

“I’d rather not be here,” Phoebe said, then wondered if she spoke the truth. “I prefer stable ground beneath me and a bath with fresh water.”

“Then why did you stay?”

“Why have you been avoiding me since I stayed?”

He touched the back of her hand, which rested on his arm. “Because you stayed.”

The deck rolled beneath Phoebe’s feet as though a thirty-foot swell had passed beneath the bow. Never would she imagine him to be so open, so blunt. So vulnerable.

“You should have taken your opportunity to run, Mrs. Lee.” He spoke nearly too softly for her to hear. The gentleness of his tone felt like a caress.

Phoebe tightened her hold on his arm. “I couldn’t go after I knew what you’re doing.”

“Ah, you want to save my soul.”

“I want to save your life. Only Jesus can save your soul.”

“Why?” He paused and faced her. “What am I to you that you would do this?”

“I don’t know.” She met and held his gaze. “I just couldn’t go.”

“I am thinking you will regret it.” He touched the tender lump on her head. “You have been injured a’ready. It could be worse next time.”

“And you are almost certain to die if you continue. Rafe—” Her heart ached. Instinct prompted her to hold him close. A glimpse of Belinda staring at her and Mel grinning held Phoebe rooted like a garden statue. “How long do I have to work on changing your mind?”

He laughed. Chuckled to be accurate, a low rumble more in his chest than his throat. “You have nigh on four weeks, but Jordy has failed for nine years.”

“That,” Phoebe bit out, “is because Jordy talks of being a man of faith while fighting alongside you on the same mission. Can you believe in his sincerity?”

“Aye, but then he has been so all my life. Derrick, now, that is different. He fights with me out of loyalty and a sense of duty.”

“As does Watt?”

“Not very subtle of you, Mrs. Lee.”

“I was Phoebe the other night.”

“Calling you Mrs. Lee reminds me you are a reluctant passenger, not my friend.” He resumed walking.

“But I am your friend.” The knotted end of a rope swung in her direction, and she danced aside to avoid it, noting Tommy Jones splicing lines twenty feet above her.

Had he swung the hemp on purpose?

“If you’ll let me be,” she concluded.

“I do not have friends, Mrs. Lee. But if I did . . .” Rafe paused, glanced up at the now safely coiled line, then faced Phoebe. “If I did—nay, I cannot say that. I am better off keeping my distance.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to deny the truth of his words, then gazed into his gray eyes—eyes she once thought as cold and hard as quartz but now were something marginally softer. Marble perhaps, or at least flint. And she decided maybe he was right. Yet if she let him drift from her, her presence aboard the brig held no purpose. She wouldn’t be with him in England if Dominick sent someone to help stop Rafe from his present course of action.

“Don’t avoid me, Rafe.” She released his arm and tucked her hands inside the boat cloak of his she still wore on deck. “Please.”

“Now then, how can I refuse a lady anything?” He rested his hand on the lump on her head, allowing his fingers to linger in her hair a moment. “Do tell me if you have headaches or see double or are dizzy or faint. I am still thinking you might be concussed. No strenuous activity until we are certain you are all right, aye?”

Odd questions coming from a ship’s captain. “Yes, but . . . does it mean I can’t climb the rigging for fresh air as you seem to do?”

“Nay, certainly not.”

“She cannot climb the rigging in a dress.” Mel popped up beside her father. “’Tis why I prefer my breeches.” And like a cat fleeing up a tree, with Fiona yapping and bobbing on the deck as though in futile pursuit, Mel leaped onto the shrouds and swept halfway to the crosstrees in seconds, then hooked her knees over a stay and released one hand.

Phoebe’s stomach dropped to her toes.

“Melvina Davina Docherty!” Rafe shouted. “Do not dare let go.”

Suddenly Watt poised beneath Mel. “Go ahead, lass. I will catch you.”

“You will not.” Rafe glared at Watt.

He shot Rafe a triumphant glance and held up his arms. “Come on, lass, you ken you can trust me.”

For a heartbeat, Mel appeared as though she would take the dare. Then she laughed, wrapped her arms and legs around a stay, and slid to the deck.

Where Fiona and her father met her, the former wagging her body in joy, the latter stalking forward like a lion tracking down a tabby. His hands dropped onto her shoulders, and he spoke to her in a tone too low for anyone else to hear. That it was a severe scolding Phoebe didn’t doubt. Mel paled, and her lower lip protruded, quivering.

“You don’t think he’ll hurt her, do you?” Belinda moved up beside Phoebe, puffing a little with exertion.

“No.” Phoebe turned to Watt. “Why did you do that?”

Watt laughed. “We’ve done it before. She was a wee bit higher up, but I could have managed it.”

“Or gotten her killed.” Phoebe slammed her fists onto her hips and braced her legs to keep her balance. “If I ever catch you taunting the child like that again, I’ll—I’ll—”

“Blacken his other eye?” Rafe turned from Mel, who slipped along the rail as though avoiding everyone. “I think you had best leave the crew’s discipline to me.”

But he hadn’t disciplined Watt after the attempted mutiny. From the smirk on Watt’s face, he expected Rafe would do nothing to him this time either.

“We should go below and make sure she’s not upset,” Belinda said.

“No, leave her be.” Rafe tucked a hand under Phoebe’s and Belinda’s elbows. “Come sit down and enjoy what mild weather we have left to us. I have duties to attend to.”

“I need to rest.” Belinda placed a hand on her belly.

“Are you feeling all right?” Phoebe sprang to Belinda’s side and slipped her arm around the younger woman. “Any pain? Any—”

“Hush.” Face reddening, Belinda clapped her hand over Phoebe’s mouth. “Just because you have no sense of decency doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“Sense of decency? There’s nothing—” Phoebe sighed. “Of course.”

She caught Rafe’s glance and a glint in his eyes akin to amusement before he nodded and strode away.

“Let’s go down to the cabin. I’m going to examine you,” Phoebe said. “It’s ridiculous for you to have dragged me to sea and then refuse to let me near you.”

“You’re here only to deliver the baby, should it become necessary,” Belinda insisted. “I don’t like being examined.”

“And I don’t like surprises like what might meet me when you go into your confinement if I don’t know your condition ahead of time. Now, come below and lie on the bunk, or I’ll ask you a lot of intimate questions on the deck here.”

“You wouldn’t.” Belinda’s color reversed to pallor.

“I would.”

“No wonder none of the ladies in Loudoun County would let you tend them.”

“It’s the ones no one calls ladies I wanted to tend anyway.” Phoebe clasped Belinda’s hand in both of hers. “Endure this for the sake of the baby, if nothing else. Possibly George’s heir.”

“Well, all right.” Head down as though she were heading to her own hanging, Belinda shuffled aft. In the cabin, she threw her cloak over a chair, then perched on the bunk.

“Lie down.”

Phoebe washed her hands while Belinda flounced onto the bunk. Back at Belinda’s side, Phoebe drew a sheet over Belinda to protect her modesty and made the examination she should have done weeks earlier. She followed all the procedures Tabitha had taught her. She ran through her experiences and lessons in her head, being without her books. She ignored Belinda’s complaints about discomfort, embarrassment, and unnecessary invasion of her privacy.

When complete, Phoebe washed her hands again and slumped on the window seat. “You lied to me, Belinda, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Belinda struggled to a sitting position and rested her hands on her belly, emphasizing its size. “I told you right away I was increasing.”

“You said four or five months. Then you said—” Phoebe took several deep breaths to keep herself from shouting. “Then you said seven. But that was a lie too, wasn’t it? You were closer to eight months along when we set sail. That was two and a half weeks ago, and now I think you’re closer to your time.”

“Well, you’re not that experienced—”

“Belinda!” Phoebe did shout this time. She sprang up from the window seat and leaned over her sister-in-law, her hands braced on the bulkhead behind her. “You’ve got to be honest with me about this. It could be a matter of life and death for you and the baby. I need to know if it’s true labor or the false pains some women feel. Do you not understand?”

Belinda burst into tears. “I think the whole ship understands. And now he’ll put me ashore and I won’t be able to help George and—”

“Put you ashore?” Phoebe sank onto the bunk beside Belinda and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “My dear girl, there is no shore out here. You’re going to have this baby either in England, if nothing holds us back, or in this very cabin.”

“I think,” Belinda said, clutching her belly, “it’s going to be in this cabin.”

12

“Captain?” Watt called from the quarterdeck. “You’d best come.”

Rafe glanced up from amidships, where he’d taken to pacing so he wouldn’t draw Phoebe’s attention. The sails, close-hauled for nighttime travel, remained in good trim. The sea swished beneath the hull in gentle swells, and not a cloud marred the sky. Below, the men either slept or engaged in quiet activity, and on deck, a few others either stood watch or strolled about for exercise like their captain. One man crouched near the bow light reading a book.

Watt wasn’t calling Rafe to the quarterdeck because of trouble with the vessel.

Gut tightening with suspicion as to where the trouble lay, Rafe headed aft. The scream reached him before he’d strode a dozen feet. He halted for a beat, then sprinted for the companionway.

The scream rose from the stern cabin. Something was wrong with Phoebe. She’d hurt herself after all. She was having a fit. She—

He slammed his hand against the door handle and shoved the portal open just as a glass soared toward his head. He ducked. The glass swooped past him, whispering through his hair on its trajectory, and smashed against the ladder.

Another shriek rose in the confined place, a banshee wail of rage or frustration. Rafe straightened as best he could beneath the low deck beams and flung himself across the cabin in time to grasp Belinda Chapman’s wrist before she threw a glass jar of some red preserves at Watt, who now filled the doorway.

“Stop it,” Rafe commanded. “You stop this nonsense right now.”

“I can’t.” She tugged against his hold and kicked her slippered foot against his shin. “I’ll go mad if I don’t do something.”

“You’ve done more than enough.” Rafe removed the jar of preserves from her fingers and tossed it to Watt.

He caught it, dropped it into one of the capacious pockets of his coat, and otherwise remained motionless in the doorway.

Belinda smacked her other fist against Rafe’s chin, not hard enough to even move his head more than half an inch to one side. “You can’t hold me. I know that’s wrong, even if you are going to rescue my husband. Phoebe, make him let me go.”

“I don’t think he should let you go,” Phoebe said. “You’re a danger to yourself and your baby right now.”

She stood just out of Rafe’s line of sight unless he turned his gaze away from Belinda, something he wasn’t willing to do, but the widow’s honeyed cream voice slid over him like warm silk on tender skin. Every hair on his arms stood on end, a reminder as to why he had been taking drastic and often inconvenient steps to be somewhere else on the brig from wherever she happened to reside.