Irish Linen (3 page)

Recalling the exchange, Lucas realized that he’d acted impulsively again. Whether he liked it or not, Meghan McBride was his betrothed for the remainder of the journey.

He didn’t care that Ned Fellows had worked on the ship since its first voyage. Cargo ship or not, the
Mary
Freedom
now carried passengers. His time as a mate should be terminated if he was a danger to the female passengers.

Lucas had always thought the captain an amicable enough fellow who had seemed to take his responsibilities seriously. The Morgans, owners of the
Mary Freedom
and close family friends of the Ridgely family, were well pleased with Nichols’s performance as a captain. Lucas had never had cause to doubt the man’s ability or his word.

But the man’s reaction to Fellows’s attack on Meghan had left Lucas feeling uneasy. Apparently, the mate had been accused before … and acquitted in the commander’s eyes.

How many women have suffered at Fellows’s hands?

Lucas thought of the young Irishwoman in his cabin. He recalled how he’d felt upon discovering the mate roughly subduing Meghan’s struggling form.

“It’s one thing to seduce a willing woman,” he murmured, “but to take her by force is reprehensible.”
Why would anyone force a woman when it was so much more rewarding to woo her?

He turned from the rail and headed toward the ladder. Meghan had had plenty of time to rest There was still much to discuss. They needed to talk now.

Meghan woke up and, with her eyes shut, listened for the sounds she’d become familiar with since boarding the
Mary Freedom …
The sound of Mary Beth’s snoring … Bridget’s whining of feeling ill … Mrs. Finn’s gentle tones as she soothed the sick girl.

Where was the ring of feet in the companionway or the other noises made by the crew?

All Meghan heard was silence. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up to study her surroundings. The only light in the cabin came from a wall lantern. The flame of the wick cast a golden glow that softened the lines of the rough-hewn furniture in the room. Memories both harsh and good came back to her with a wave of pain. She recalled Ned Fellows’s attack and the man who’d saved her—Lucas Ridgely.

I’m in his cabin.
She glanced down at the cloak, which had become twisted in her legs and risen to above her knees. It had all really happened! She was still wearing the green garment meant for Lucas’s sister.

Where was Lucas? she wondered.

She listened hard to hear over her thundering heart and heard the sounds of the ship she’d missed earlier.

Meghan sighed and lay back. She was safe. She wasn’t dead. The ship was afloat, and everything was all right.

Da.
She blinked and stared without seeing as she
was overwhelmed by grief for her dead father. Her eyes watered, but she forced away her tears. She had promised to be strong for Da. He was dead, but she was alive, and she’d make the best of things.

I have to get back to me cabin,
she thought. How long had she been here? An hour? Two? Her heart skipped a beat. All night?

She sat up and swung her legs off the bunk. Meghan rose and searched for her gown. She hoped the garment was dry; her shift beneath the cloak was no longer wet. She didn’t want to put on a damp gown. She’d spied her dress draped over the end of Lucas’s trunk. Meghan touched it and frowned. As she’d feared, it was still wet.

“Ah, well, ye’ve no choice, Meg,” she muttered to herself.

The door to the cabin opened as she struggled to remove the cloak. She gasped as Lucas Ridgely stepped inside and closed the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She flinched at his sharp tone. “I’m changing back into me own clothes.” She glared at him. “You said you would knock three times. You didn’t say you had a key!”

“Why?”

“Why?” she echoed, puzzled.

“Why are you changing?” he said.

She blinked. “Because the cloak belongs to you … to your—”

“I think it looks better on you than it would on me.” To her amazement, a smile curved his sensual lips.

She found herself unable to resist his smile. “Yes, well …”

“Your gown is dry?”

She shook her head.

“Take the cloak, Meghan. It’s yours to keep. I told you my sister doesn’t need it.”

She gaped at him in shock. “You’re giving it to me?”

He nodded.

“Why?” She was overwhelmed; she’d never met anyone so generous to her before.

Her face flamed as Lucas looked down at the woolen garment in her arms. Her back stiffened. “I don’t need your charity.” She set the cloak on the bunk.

Lucas softened his expression as he met her gaze. “I bought the cloak for my sister. She has more clothes than she can wear in a month. She doesn’t need it. You do.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue.

“Please.” He picked up the garment. “Let me be chivalrous for once, will you? I usually make a poor knight in shining armor, Irish. The least you can do is accept my gift.” His smile was coaxing. “As thanks for slaying Dragon Fellows?”

“But—”

He captured her hand and gave her the cloak. “Take it, Meghan.” Her fingers felt small and fragile within his grasp.

“Aye,” she whispered, pulling her hand from his grip. “I’ll keep it.”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

She shook her head as if she didn’t understand his generosity.

“Now about Fellows …” he began. He’d thought long and hard on this, and after his meeting with the captain, he’d realized that there was nothing else to do.

Caution entered Meghan’s blue gaze. Could he blame her? “Meghan, there’s only one way I know, for certain, to ensure your protection,” he continued. “As I mentioned before, Ned Fellows is just one of many.
I think we should continue to pretend we’re betrothed.”

Surprise flickered in her expression. “You would do that for me?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the only way—”

‘
No, why would ye help a stranger?
Ye said ye make a poor knight, didn’t ye?”

“Yes,” he admitted slowly. How could he explain why he wanted—
needed
—to help her, when he didn’t understand it himself?

She moved away, looking confused. “I don’t know what to say.”

He smiled and gestured to the chair. “Why don’t you sit down, and we can discuss what to do next.”

She obeyed. “Mr. Ridgely—”

“Lucas.”

“L-Lucas,” she said, sounding breathless. “Ye mustn’t concern yourself with me welfare. I’ll be all right.”

He scowled. “I told not just one, but two of the chief officers on this ship that we are engaged. I can hardly claim otherwise now, can I?”

She blinked up at him with innocence, and he stifled his irritation. “I do appreciate your help …” she said.

“But?” He raised an eyebrow.

She looked startled. “Two officers?”

“I spoke with the captain.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes, it does change things.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “I’m sharing a cabin with three other women. How am I to suddenly explain the appearance of me fiancé?”

“You’re sharing a cabin,” he echoed. “Excellent!” He grinned. He’d been afraid she was quartered in
steerage with many of the other Irish immigrants. How could he explain away his fiancée staying in such
lesser
conditions than he would live in himself?

She studied him as if he’d gone mad. “I don’t believe ye understand.”

He saw with surprise the beauty of her blue eyes. Large and thickly lashed, they seemed to draw him into their bright depths. She appeared so much the better for having rested.
Why, she’s actually quite lovely!

“No, Meghan, I think it’s you who don’t understand.” He regarded her with a smile. “We couldn’t very well convince the mate you’re my betrothed if you’re traveling in steerage.”

She glared at him, but when he refused to look away, she averted her glance. “Da was in steerage,” she mumbled.

Lucas perked up. “Your father’s on board the ship?” He sat down on one end of his sea chest, watching her shake her head and stare off into space.

“Me father is dead. Buried at sea early this mornin’.”

He felt a rush of pity for her. “I’m sorry.” That explained why she was wandering the deck alone.

“You said there were three other women in your cabin,” he then said. “None of them are family,” he guessed aloud. “Close friends?”

Meghan met his gaze with a half smile. “As close as one can get from living with strangers for nine days.”

The slight curve of her lips transformed her features, making her appear beautiful. His breath caught. What would it be like if she grinned … or laughed with pure enjoyment?

But then what enjoyment could this Irishwoman have had in her rough, young life?

Lucas returned her smile. “Tell me about them,” he encouraged.”

“Why do ye want to know?” Her blue eyes regarded him warily again.

“Because I should know who is sleeping with my fiancee.”

She gasped. “Mr. Rid—Lucas,” she corrected after he shot her a look. “Did ye honestly believe this is necessary?”

Lucas loved her accent, the way she pronounced her
r’s
and her husky tone as she said his name. It was important for him to convince her that she needed to keep up the pretense of their betrothal. For some reason, her safety had become vital to him.

He reached across the distance that separated them to capture her hands. Cradling her small wrists within his grasp, he searched her expression. “I’ll not hurt you, Irish,” he said softly. “Play my fiancee until we reach American soil, and you’ll be safe from men like Ned Fellows.”

She closed her eyes. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until she raised her thick lashes and nodded. “ ‘Tis the right thing to do, I’m supposing.”

Relaxing with relief, he inclined his head. “It’s the only way.” He released her hands and stood. “Now, Irish, tell me about your cabin mates.”

When Meghan entered her cabin a short time later, her cabin mates greeted her with exclamations of concern.

“Meghan, dearie, we’d feared something dreadful had happened to ye.” The oldest woman, Mrs. Finn, looked relieved to see her.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Finn,” Meghan replied with a smile. “I was spending time with me … betrothed.” She braced herself for what was to follow.

“What!”

‘Your
betrothed?”

“He’s here
—
on the ship! Why didn’t ye tell us?”

Bombarded by questions, Meghan raised her hand to halt the questions as she sat on her bunk. She felt both physically and emotionally drained after her experience. Rest, she knew, would be a long time in coming this night. Patiently, she told the tale that she and Lucas had concocted between them before she left him, and as expected, the story only heightened, not satisfied, her cabin mates’ curiosity.

“Who is he?” Mary Beth asked.

“An American,” Meghan replied.

“Where did ye meet?”

“Da and I met him in Dublin.” She didn’t meet anyone’s gaze directly for fear that they would see that she was lying.

The questions continued, and she answered each one mechanically, her head reeling from the day’s events.

“Is he handsome?” Bridget said.

She felt her cheeks warm. “Aye.”

“Strong?”

She blinked and nearly choked as she answered. “Aye.”

Her gaze encountered Mrs. Finn’s odd glance, and she looked away, suddenly recalling the day she’d confided in the older woman.
I told her about Rafferty,
she realized with dismay.
But did I mention his name?
Flustered, she wondered what to do and decided to continue the charade.

“He gave ye that cloak?”

“Aye.”

As Mary Beth and Bridget exclaimed with awe, Meghan fought impatience. She was tired of all their questions.

“When?” Mary Beth asked.

“What did he say when he gave it to ye?” Bridget said.

“Lasses!” Mrs. Finn suddenly exclaimed. ‘There’ll be plenty of time to talk with Meghan later. Can’t ye see that the child is swaying on her feet?”

“But—”

“Bridget Cleary.” Mrs. Finn used the tone of voice that no one would dare to argue with.

Meghan searched the woman’s expression; and relief stole over her, uncoiling tense muscles. Mrs. Finn might be skeptical, but she wasn’t going to say a word.

“Why didn’t Meghan tell us about him?” Mary Beth said.

“Meghan and her betrothed had their reasons for keeping their relationship a secret. Tis late, and the girl obviously needs her rest. Have ye forgotten how Meghan began her day?”

“Aye,” Mary Beth said as Meghan stood and began to undress. “I’m sorry, Meg.”

Meghan laid the gown on the end of the bunk and pulled on her only nightdress.

“Aye,” Bridget mumbled. “Me, too.”

Mrs. Finn raised the coverlet on Meghan’s bunk and gestured for her to lie down. “In ye go, Meghan me girl.”

She curled into bed, grateful for the respite. “Thank ye,” she murmured to the older woman.

Mrs. Finn nodded and lowered the light of the wall lamp until the small cabin was lit by only a muted glow. After a time, the chatter of her cabin mates died down, and the only sound Meghan heard was the creak of the ship’s hull and the breathing noises made by sleeping women.

What strange act of fate had made Lucas Ridgely her rescuer?

She thought of Ned Fellows and shuddered. Lucas
was right; Fellows would be after her again if the mate realized that Lucas had lied about their betrothal.

Chilled, Meghan rubbed her arms and then rolled over, drawing the blanket up over her shoulders to keep warm. She closed her eyes and saw Lucas’s face, and relived the moment he’d come to rescue her.

She sighed. It would be all right, she thought. With Lucas’s help, she would evade men like Ned Fellows. Soon, she’d be in the United States, and the danger of Ned Fellows would be over. She’d be with her real fiance—Rafferty O’Connor.

Meghan tried to conjure up Rafferty’s image, but the vision of Lucas kept interfering, consuming her. Then, she thought of Da and how much she missed him. The pain was like a raw wound, and she lay awake, recalling the good times, the happy times, when both her father and mother were alive. When her mother had died, Da had been devastated, but he’d quickly taken control of his grief in order to help his little girl.

Meghan was awakened by the ringing of the ship’s bells, signaling the start of the morning watch. Sometime during the night, exhaustion had taken hold and she’d fallen asleep. She opened her eyes and thought of Lucas. “Will I see
him
today?”

She felt a little thrill. She knew that because of their fake betrothal, she most definitely would. And she was pleased.