Of Noble Birth (22 page)

Before Trenton could
respond, Nathaniel turned on his heel and strode down the corridor.
His mind was relieved about Alexandra, but he was still tired and
certainly in no mood for an argument. Trenton, on the other hand,
seemed eager to vent the frustrations of taking over the captain’s
post.

His friend was right about
one thing, though, Nathaniel realized as his stomach began to
complain of its neglect. He’d eaten little over the past
twenty-four hours, and now he was starved. As he descended to where
most of his men slept, he wondered what Charlie might be able to
whip together from their dwindling stores.

Negotiating row upon row
of hammocks slung from the ceiling like giant cocoons, Nathaniel
passed Tiny. The big man must have had the night watch to be
sleeping at this time of day, but the hand that suddenly reached
out, impeding his progress, told Nathaniel Tiny was wide
awake.

“Can I ‘ave a word with
ye, Cap’n?”

Nathaniel paused. “What is
it?”

“That lad ye brought from
the
Eastern ‘Orizon...”

“What about him?” The same
feeling of annoyance he had experienced with Trenton swelled in
Nathaniel again.

“There’s something unusual
about the bloke. ‘E—”

“I know,” Nathaniel
interrupted. “I’m going to take care of everything right
now.”

He strode past Tiny to
where Jake lay glowering at him. “I hear you’re a pleasant sort to
live with.”

Jake leaned up on his
elbows. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I suggest that you behave
yourself while aboard my ship. Otherwise, I might be persuaded by
one of many offers to rid us of your presence
before
we reach port. A swim in the
sea might not improve your health, but your absence would do
wonders for my peace of mind.”

“How do you expect me to
behave when you closet me away with filthy men crawling with
vermin?” Jake snarled. “The stench of unwashed bodies nearly
suffocates me, and the itching is sending me mad.”

“Sounds as though you’ve
finally found something that enjoys your company.”

“‘
Tis you who brought me
here.”

“I must have had a mental
lapse.”

“Which you will live to
regret, I assure you.”

Jake certainly had spirit,
but Nathaniel was not amused. “Let’s forgo the threats for the time
being. I had no idea that we have a problem with lice. It is a rule
aboard this ship that my men keep themselves bathed, for the
comfort of all. If they are neglecting that duty, it is well you
brought it to my attention.”

“Are you daft, man? How do
you miss thirty men itching like dogs?”

By keeping vigil over a
beautiful woman who has lingered just this side of death for nearly
two days,
Nathaniel thought. He could have
missed the Second Coming, immersed as he was in watching Alexandra
whimper and moan and turn in his bed.

“If things are as bad as
you say, there’s one way to solve the problem quickly enough,”
Nathaniel said. “I’ll see that you and my men have your heads
shaved and a good bath. Immediately.”

“You bloody won’t touch a
hair on my head,” Jake shouted as Nathaniel returned to the
ladder.

Ignoring the colorful
epithets the boy hurled at his back, Nathaniel chuckled. Jake could
outdo them all for swearing.

“I couldn’t ‘elp but
over’ear, Cap’n,” Tiny said before Nathaniel could ascend the
ladder. “Surely ye don’t truly intend to—”

“Yes, I do.” Nathaniel
spoke with conviction. “Any man found with lice will be shaved.
I’ll not have vermin aboard this ship. All the hammocks will be
washed as well.”

“But those critters are
aboard every ship,” Tiny complained, twisting his thick, stubby
fingers through a full beard. “The men will not be
‘appy—”

“Then they should have
followed my instructions from the beginning. They’ve been warned
before.”

* * *

By midafternoon, nearly
half of the crew milled about the deck, temporarily bald. Acting as
self-conscious as shorn dogs, they slunk back into the corners of
the ship whenever they could, grumbling to themselves about feeling
naked.

Jake was the only one to
put up a fight. But Nathaniel was on hand to see that his orders
were carried through to the letter.

“The itching can’t be too
bad if you’re not willing to be rid of the cause,” he told Jake as
Tiny tried to hold the young man still for Garth, who was acting as
barber. “Could it be that you’re the one who brought lice aboard in
the first place?”

Jake tore away from Tiny’s
grip and charged Nathaniel, his good arm swinging, but three other
men interceded in time to haul him back. “I’ll not suffer this,” he
yelled as the first thatch of sandy-colored hair hit the
deck.

“And I’ll not tolerate the
spread of lice,” Nathaniel returned calmly. “I hope everyone
understands that now.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” the men
murmured, and Nathaniel doubted they would soon forget.

“I’ll make you pay for
this.” Jake twisted and turned to avoid the razor, but with his
injured hand still bandaged and hanging in a sling, he was easily
overpowered. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Forgetting their own
humiliation long enough to enjoy Jake’s misery, a ripple of
laughter went through the men.

“Look! The high and mighty
first mate of the
Eastern Horizon
is as bald as a baby’s butt,” someone chortled as
the locks fell away.

Trenton laughed. “I’m just
counting my lucky stars that I don’t bunk with the lot of them,” he
told Nathaniel. “I have no doubt you’d do the same to
me.”

“I’d have my own head
shaved if I had lice—” Nathaniel’s words suddenly fell away. Jake
was now as hairless as those who had undergone the blade before
him, but a purplish birthmark, shaped like a boot, marked the top
of his head.

The sight of it made
Nathaniel sick. Tiny was right. This boy was no ordinary
sailor.

Jake opened his mouth as
if to shout yet another curse, but no sound came out. Something
akin to fear entered his eyes as his gaze met and locked with
Nathaniel’s, and a sudden awareness passed between them as surely
as though they had spoken the words aloud.

“Take him back to his
bunk,” Nathaniel ordered, feeling as though the wind had been
knocked out of his lungs. “Everyone back to your posts.”

Trenton watched Nathaniel
curiously. “Do you feel all right?”

Nathaniel didn’t answer.
He’d never felt worse. He motioned for his first mate to follow him
as he pivoted on the heel of one boot, then headed
below.

Alexandra was still
recuperating in Nathaniel’s cabin, so Nathaniel led the way to
Trenton’s, where they could afford themselves some
privacy.

“What is it?” Trenton
asked as soon as he closed the door behind them. “What just
happened up there?”

Nathaniel didn’t speak. He
paced the short expanse of floor while Trenton leaned against the
wall, arms folded, waiting.

“Does the name Albert
Jacob Kimbolten mean anything to you?” he asked at length. He
stopped moving to stare out the porthole, where a meager amount of
afternoon sunlight streamed in.

“The Kimbolten name always
means something to me,” Trenton replied. “It’s the duke’s name. Why
do you ask?”

“Because Jake is Albert
Jacob Kimbolten, the duke’s son.”

A look of stunned surprise
struck Trenton like a thunderbolt. “He can’t be.”

“He can, and he is. Think
about it.” Nathaniel watched his friend’s face as Trenton tried to
reconcile the boy Jake to his image of Nathaniel’s half
brother.

Nathaniel knew it was hard
to imagine. He could scarcely believe it himself.

“He’s the duke’s son? The
Marquess of Clifton? Jake talks like a sailor, not some high-born
aristocrat.”

“Aye, and under the
circumstances, he’d be an idiot not to.”

“He’s a belligerent
fool—”

“But who could my father
trust to oversee the delivery of the guns more than his own
son?”

“Still...” Trenton shook
his head.

“He has a birthmark. Maybe
you saw it. It’s in the shape of Italy.”

His first mate
nodded.

“You remember when I was
young, and Martha took me to see my father?”

“Aye. He called her a liar
and insisted that his first child died at birth.”

Nathaniel nodded. “He also
had the nursemaid bring his new son in to show us his heir. It was
his moment of triumph. The baby had the same birthmark.
“

Trenton rubbed his chin.
“That was eighteen years ago.”

“Aye, and I’ll never
forget it if I live to be a hundred. Do you think the day Martha
died could ever fade from my memory?” Nathaniel flinched at the
bitterness in his own voice.

“Nathaniel, you were only
seven. Martha made the decision to go back to Bridlewood, not you.
How could anyone have expected the duke to send his men after the
two of you—”

“But I wanted to go,”
Nathaniel replied softly, closing his eyes. “I was so hopeful that
my father would—” Afraid his voice might crack, he fell
silent.

“You hoped what every
other young boy would have hoped in your situation. That your
father would finally accept you. I’m not sure that’s the kind of
thing a child ever outgrows.”

“Well, I’m not a child
anymore, and I’m not a powerless woman, either, a mere servant who
loved a deformed boy to distraction. I can fight back. Greystone
killed Martha. I know that as surely as I’m standing
here.”

Nathaniel pictured
Martha’s broken body trapped beneath the carriage, remembered
tugging on her arm with all the strength his seven-year-old body
could muster. The agony that had gripped him as the one person who
loved him, had always loved him, slowly died was the worst hell he
could ever endure. He’d been careful not to love so deeply since,
for fear of suffering the same kind of loss again. He owed the ugly
scar that experience had left on his heart, as well as all the
years of loneliness afterward, to his father. “How I long to punish
him for that,” he whispered.

Trenton shifted away from
the wall and crossed to sit at his small desk. “Did Martha really
plan to go to a barrister and fight for your
birthright?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “I
can’t be certain. She talked about it a great deal. She knew by law
I would inherit everything if she could prove who I was. But she
was the only person who could testify to what happened on the day I
was born.”

“That Greystone tried to
kill you.”

“Aye, but fate doesn’t
always follow a man’s will, even a duke’s.”

“It takes a great deal of
money to run an empire like your father’s,” Trenton mused. “So he
starts smuggling rifles to Russia, and here we are.”

Nathaniel closed his eyes,
kneading his forehead with his fingertips. “Aye, here we are, with
a beautiful, innocent woman lying in my bed, fighting for her life.
And a bitter, injured half brother.” So many thoughts assailed his
brain that he could scarcely sort them out, let alone deal with the
emotions they provoked.

“What happened to
Alexandra is my fault, not yours,” Trenton said, as though reading
his mind. “I was certain she was the woman I had seen four years
ago.”

Nathaniel shook his head.
“It’s been my plan from the start. I’m responsible for Richard’s
capture, for Alexandra, and now Jake, or rather Lord
Clifton.”

“But your father
deserves—”

“Therein lies the
problem,” Nathaniel interrupted. Damn if he didn’t want to shout.
“I know what my father deserves, and I bloody well want nothing
more than to give it to him. But shouldn’t the lives of others—of
innocents—mean more to me than destroying him? The marquess is
young. He’s bitter and misguided perhaps, but he’s not to blame for
Greystone’s actions any more than Alexandra deserves what has
happened to her.” He sighed. “I know what I
should
do. I should salvage what I
can of my future, forget my father, and move on.”