Prize of My Heart (16 page)

“Avast talking about me as though I were not standing here.” Brogan forced the scowl from his face. “Here, Lorena. You wanted the Book. Take it.”

She pressed it back into his holding. “I was hoping you would do the reading.”

His irritation returned. “Me? Surely Mr. Smith would be better suited. Aboard ship he conducts Sunday services. That is his collection of hymnbooks on my bookshelf. He’s been active in the religious revival to improve the moral condition of seamen and promote temperance.”

“That is very good of you, Mr. Smith,” Lorena acknowledged. “But allow me to explain my predicament. Before recent events, I’d been reading to Drew from Psalms. I thought, considering the bond it seems you’ve forged with him, that you, Brogan, might wish to read in my stead. It has been a long day and my eyes are tired. If not, I’m sure Mr. Smith would agree.”

Brogan’s throat went dry. His gaze jumped to Drew, who stared back in earnest. This opportunity would allow for one more way in which he could be a father to his son. “I would enjoy that very much. And you, Drew? Would you like me to read to you?”

The lad’s eyes widened excitedly. He reached for his cloth doll. “Oh, yes. Captain Briggs likes to hear, too.”

Brogan resumed his seat and opened the weathered Bible to the book of Psalms.

“Clever girl,” he heard Jabez whisper to Lorena. “I’ve not known man or woman to have such good influence on the cap’n as ye. In getting him to open his Bible again, ye have accomplished in one evening what I have been trying to do for years.”

Brogan lifted his gaze from the page to eye his chief mate with annoyance. And yet not so annoyed as he might have expected.

“The dust flying from that Good Book is fairly choking me.” Jabez coughed and hacked, making a show of waving a hand before his face. “Quickly, Miss Huntley, cover yer mouth.”

Lorena laughed at the jibe, then sat back, hands folded, and gave Brogan her attention. “What have you chosen?”

“Nothing until I have quiet.”

Drew shot her a glare from across the table, pressing a finger to his soft pink lips.

Lorena repressed a smile, but not the gaiety in her eyes.

Brogan gave his son’s curls a tousle, then turned his focus to the page. Dismissing all else from his thoughts, he began to read, “‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters . . .’”

He projected authority in his voice for his son’s enjoyment, but as the moments wore on and he reached the passage “‘Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses,’” Brogan began to feel a conviction from the words he recited aloud. It had been so long since he’d dared have faith, and even then what good had come of it?

“‘He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.’” His voice grew hoarse and thick at the promise. Dare he trust it? “‘Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.’”

What was his desired haven? His son, of course. A family of his own, bound in blood and loyalty and love. Folk to whom he truly belonged and who belonged to him.

He finished the last remaining lines of the psalm as though offering them up in prayer.
Whatever the outcome upon reaching Duxboro . . .
please don’t let my son be taken from me again
.

A light touch on his forearm burned through Brogan’s shirt and flesh to his marrow. He looked down into the sweet face of his young son, gazing up at him with an expression that could be . . . love?

“I had a papa once,” he said. “He sailed into war on a ship with cannons and guns, but he never came back. He gave me Captain Briggs, but I was too small to remember. I think he was like you.”

Brogan felt the breath flee his lungs.
I am your father, Ben
. The truth festered inside him, and now Brogan could feel the ties of kinship revive between them. He took Drew’s chin in his hand, tilting his face so he might smile more deeply into those sincere eyes. The lad smiled back. Drew may not yet know who he was, but some part of Benjamin remembered.

The only course left to him was to find the proper moment and reveal himself. Then hope for acceptance, not only from Drew but Lorena, as well. Would they forgive him for believing, not unlike George Louder, that he could take what he’d felt was his by right, when all along he’d needed to earn their love?

Whatever had transpired between Abigail and the Huntleys, he was grateful to Nathaniel Huntley and Lorena for opening their home and hearts to the boy, for giving Drew the love he never would have received from Abigail. Together, they had raised him into a fine, brave lad.

The mystery behind it all, however, continued to eat away at him.

Lorena thanked him again for the day’s events and tonight’s reading, then rose to herd Drew off to bed. “Will you read to us again tomorrow, Captain?” she asked.

Brogan nodded, still thoughtful. “Aye, I shall. Sleep well now, both of you.”

“And you, Brogan,” she bid. “A very good night.”

D
eep within the abyss of slumber that evening, Brogan was having a hard night. Dreams had dragged him back to the last time he saw his wife alive.

“The child is gone, Brogan. Do you hear me? Gone. How many more times will you have me repeat the words before their meaning sinks into that infernal thickness between your ears? Benjamin is gone . . . forever!”

Reeling from disbelief, he searched for a sign to the contrary, all the while fearing the worst. He scanned the parlor, furnished in Abigail’s ostentatious preference for dark floral chintz décor, heavy Empire furniture, and lacquered screens. Not a trace of motherhood remained. Abigail had rid herself of their two-year-old son.

Brogan steadied himself, straining against the rage coursing through him. He envisioned his son frightened and crying among unfamiliar surroundings, and his ire rose to where steam fairly blew out his ears. He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, then slowly unclenched it, his patience waning.

“Tell me where he is.” The words spewed forth as a plea, although that was not his intent. The last thing Brogan wanted was to sound desperate.

Abigail tossed back her head of silky golden curls and postured herself on the edge of the settee in a well-practiced manner that drew attention to her petite frame and the generosity of her endowments. Her dressing gown draped loosely off one shoulder, her skin a perfect alabaster. Six years his senior, she could pass for much younger than her actual twenty-nine years.

Suddenly her beauty disgusted him.

She raised her face to him in defiance, and even the dim lighting could not disguise the exceptional brilliance of her exotic blue eyes. “It is done. He shall be provided for far better than you or I ever could. I no longer have the means to care for an infant, and you, Brogan, most certainly do not. An occasional visit when in port does not make for a doting parent, as you may seem to think.”

Brogan winced at her harshness. By “means” she meant she no longer had any desire to care for Ben. She’d shown little love for the boy, and not for one moment did he believe her attempt at reassurance. Nay, he was not so naive as to trust the motives of anyone who’d condone a mother abandoning her son, anyone who’d agree to spirit away their child. “You believe Benjamin will benefit from the sponsor of strangers, more so than with a father who loves him? To grow up never knowing his origins, his own people?” It was a terrible fate. Brogan knew from experience—a loneliness that tore at the fabric of his being.

She glared back. “You needn’t worry. He’ll be well taken care of, I assure you. Very well.”

Ah, was this her true purpose revealed at last? She was a sly one, this woman. “I see then. It’s money, is it? You sold Benjamin for money?”

His mind grappled for something to persuade her to reveal the boy’s whereabouts. “You know you’ve no need of that money, Abigail. You are more than comfortable, and besides, I’ve been advanced to captain. It’s a captain’s wages I shall be sending you from now on. I’ve been sought in the service of a vessel under my own command. I promise, I shall return whenever and as often as I am able, but what else can I do? I must work; I must provide for my family and aid in the defense of our country.”

“Ah, yes.” She rolled her eyes, a twist of disdain on her lips. “You are to captain a privateer.”

Brogan nodded, hoping he had finally caught her ear. “The schooner
Black Eagle
, with a crew of forty-two and guns of two six-pounders and three twelves, all waiting to sail. One half of the net proceeds from her prizes goes to the vessel’s owner. The other half belongs to the crew. Of that, I shall receive twenty-two shares. That’s very generous. This venture could prove quite prosperous. For all of us.”

Her bitter laugh slashed through his pain with the sting of a whiplash. “Don’t be a fool, Brogan. We are ‘us’ no longer. You shall not see the boy again. And don’t mistake me for ignorant, because I assure you—I am not. Your missions grow more dangerous each time you sail. In truth, there is no prosperity in your future. I hold little hope of my husband returning with his life. Besides, money had nothing to do with my decision. I parted with the brat because I couldn’t bear the sight of him any longer. The foul stench of his soiled napkins and those infernal cries waking me in the middle of the night. His birth is a mishap I am well rid of.”

Brogan advanced on her. Her pupils widened, reflecting her sudden fear and the fire blazing from his own eyes. In one swift movement he reached for the front of her dressing gown and pulled her to her feet. She shrieked while somewhere on the garment a rip sounded.

“You are still my wife and you will do as I say. Give me the name of the man who has Benjamin.” He bellowed the demand in her face, then clasped her by the shoulders while from beneath clenched teeth he threatened, “Tell me or I swear I shall—”

“You shall what?” Her eyes challenged him to execute the deed in his thoughts.

Once he had loved this woman for the child she gave him. Now he despised her for taking him away. Still, she was Benjamin’s mother.

His hands fell from her body. Abigail smiled in victory. They both knew he would never harm a woman.

“Why are you doing this, Abigail?” She had him between wind and water, a vulnerable position if he ever hoped to see his son again. “Have mercy. Your own flesh and blood. He’s an innocent child. How can you speak such evil?” He breathed deeply, ignoring her insults and fighting for control as he prayed against hope he’d find the right words to inspire some compassion. “Justify your actions as you see fit, but I cannot abandon my own son. I will not. He’s all I have. If you care nothing for Ben yourself, then why deny him a father who loves him?”

Why indeed?

Today he had come hailing the greatest news of his career, but all his accomplishments and success meant nothing without Benjamin. Twenty-three years of age and he had been advanced to captain
 . . . captain . . . captain . . .

“Captain. Captain, wake up!”

Brogan’s eyes flashed open with a start. He lay frozen and disoriented, while above him a woman’s features penetrated his drowsy fog. Abigail?

He bolted upright, heart lurching, his chest heaving. At the foot of his bed a shadowy figure held a lantern aloft, blinding him with its golden glare. “Tell me where he is,” Brogan rasped. “Where’s Benjamin?”

“I am here,” returned a child’s sweet voice.

“Ben,” he whispered as relief eased his racing heart.

Brogan felt a woman’s touch on his arm. “Captain, are you ill? He’s warm and his nightshirt is soaked with sweat,” she said, brushing the hair from his forehead. “Warrick, fetch him a tumbler of water.”

Eyes heavy with sleep, Brogan blinked, fighting off the stupor until he’d oriented himself to his surroundings. He took a deep breath and realized he sat within the large box-framed bed of his cabin. Moonlight shone between the damask curtains like a pearl, spreading the faintest illumination across Lorena’s—not Abigail’s—features as she stood beside the bed, eyeing him. Slowly he roused to the smells of new wood, clean linens, and tallow from the lantern’s candle. A lantern held by his chief mate, Jabez Smith.

The sea rolled in a long, low swell, lifting the
Yankee Heart
, then carefully easing her down again. As his eyes adjusted, Brogan looked with annoyance at the gawking faces about him and suffered no small measure of self-consciousness.

Reaching down, he clutched the sheets snug about his waist.

“Mr. Smith, for what reason are you gathered in my sleeping cabin at such an hour?”

“You were moaning and cried out in your sleep,” Lorena was quick to explain. “We all heard you, didn’t we, Mr. Smith?”

Brogan’s heart thumped wildly as Lorena’s gaze found the jagged raised scar on his right shoulder. His nightshirt had twisted around him and slipped off one shoulder, he realized. He quickly covered himself, but not before he caught her pitiful wince.

As her eyes found his, she suffered embarrassment over her scrutiny and promptly retreated to stand alongside Drew, as though suddenly aware of the intimacy. In the lantern’s light, her springy ginger-brown curls reflected subtle tints of auburn and gilt. They fell loose about her small face and down across her shoulders as she stared back at him, disarmed.

Brogan quickly diverted his attention to Jabez. “There was no need to come running. I am not a child.”

“And yet ye have little trouble screaming like one.”

His young steward Warrick let slip a snicker.

Lorena gave him a sharp look. “The water, please, Warrick.”

“Yes, miss.”

“I don’t need water. Nor anyone’s concern, thank you. It was an unpleasant dream and that is all,” Brogan assured them, catching his son’s eye.

Drew, who had been quietly observing by Lorena’s side, laid his cloth doll on the edge of the bed. “Captain Briggs helps when I have bad dreams.”

Brogan reached for the doll, recalling the day he’d presented it to Ben. Captain Briggs was to be Ben’s protector while his father sailed the seas.
“Just think of me when you hold Captain Briggs,”
he’d told his son as he tucked him into bed,
“and remember how much I love you.”

Brogan blinked the moisture from his eyes, thankful that he sat within the shadows of his corner bed. “Thank you, Ben,” he said with pride welling in his breast. “I shall keep Captain Briggs with me for the rest of the night.”

Ben grinned broadly, responding to the name, and for the first time Brogan sensed the son he thought he’d lost acknowledge his true identity. Not as Drew Huntley, but as Benjamin Talvis.

Lorena twittered disapprovingly and moved to take the boy by the shoulders. She pulled him to her in that mother-hen fashion she was known to employ. “Surely, Captain, you mean
Drew
.”

“Aye, pardon . . . Drew. Seems I’m still quite sleepy.” And before Lorena could say another word, he quickly added, “Now back to bed, all of you. Mr. Smith, I leave it to you to see them safely to their cabins.”

It had been an eventful and emotional day for them all. Everyone was exhausted. And in the dead of night, who could think clearly? Or so Lorena tried to tell herself as she padded back to her cabin with Drew. Before bidding them good-night for the second time, Warrick reminded her that breakfast would be served at half past seven.

Her thoughts continued to whir as she climbed back into bed. No amount of reasoning could explain the exchange she’d witnessed between Brogan and Drew. Lorena could no longer deny there was something to their relationship other than a sea captain’s kindness to a small boy. Brogan’s longing looks, the interest and concern he showed for Drew seemed to indicate this was more than an unlikely pair of kindred souls brought together by happenstance. Could it be that Brogan concealed a deeper relationship with the boy, a relationship not even Drew was aware of, and yet for some reason he responded to it?

She could not dismiss Drew’s remark about the papa he’d lost. He had never complained about his lot in life. He’d resigned himself to the fact that both his parents were gone and had accepted her father as his own. He’d been content, and with the exception of his attachment to Captain Briggs, Lorena never knew he longed for more.

She curled her body protectively around his on the goose feather mattress, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, every faculty alert, unable to sleep for the accelerated beating of her heart.

“Drew?” she whispered from behind. “Tonight the captain called you Ben.”

“Oh, he does that sometimes.”

“Don’t you find that odd?”

The boy grew silent, then admitted drowsily, “I don’t know.”

“You’ve told me how much you enjoy Captain Talvis’s stories. Did he ever tell you how he got that long raised scar across his shoulder?”

She felt Drew’s nod. “He let me touch it.”

He rolled over and told her of a battle with cannons fired and the quarterdeck shattering. A wood splinter had speared the captain in the fray. He wouldn’t allow the wound to be treated until his privateer’s coat had been carefully removed, no matter how much additional pain it caused to his shoulder. The garment was not to be cut off.

Lorena could find no relief from her disturbing thoughts. Why would a coat, an article of clothing, hold such import? It was almost as though the coat were as precious to Brogan as Captain Briggs was to Drew.

She should confront Brogan for an explanation, but she was frightened of discussing a subject that might lead to the exposure of her own secret.

Lorena didn’t sleep well that night. She rose late, and by the time she entered the great cabin, the men were well into their breakfast. Mr. Smith, second mate William Farragut, and Brogan all set down their coffee cups and rose to bid her a good morning.

Drew looked to be working with something on his lap. He glanced up with delight to see her and let out a belch.