Surrender (27 page)

“A wife who will adore him,” she said.

“And do so with experience and expertise!”

Anger began a slow burn inside her. “My groom to be, sir, is an English gentleman who loves me, and does not condemn me for a kidnapping that was hardly my fault.”

“Ah, yes!”

“You’re not rowing, Captain,” she commented.

His arms moved automatically at her words. The little
boat seemed to explode across the water with his impetus.

“So—he will understand.”

“Indeed, God knows. Perhaps he will appreciate my expertise—as I’m sure your fiancée will yours. But then again, sir, perhaps she has already!”

“My fiancée?” he inquired, ignoring the rest.

“I read about her in the paper…Toms…Thompkins … oh, something of the like. Your beloved in Charleston.”

“Ah…Janine.”

“Ah, Janine,” she repeated flatly.

The boat banged against the bow of the
Lady Varina
. To her surprise, he instantly rose, catching a rope that was thrown down to him, and using it to pull them closer to the rope ladder cast over the ship’s side.

“Miss Magee?” he invited.

She moved quickly to the ladder, trying to climb up before he could help her.

She felt his hands on her back. She bit into her lower lip. He gave her rump a shove, and that was all.

A few minutes later she stood dripping on deck. She had maintained her cloak—and her silver. For that she had to be glad.

As she was glad to see the men of the
Lady Varina
lined up on the deck, waiting to greet her. One by one they doffed their caps. “Miss Magee!” Dr. Stewart said pleasantly.

“Welcome, miss!” Jeremiah Jones told her shyly. “The captain’s cabin is ready for you.”

“We’ve taken the liberty of bringing your things over from the Yank vessel,” Dr. Stewart told her.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” she said, aware that Jerome had reached the deck, and stood to her left, arms crossed over his chest. She didn’t look at him. If he wanted to force her to be here, she was damned well going to make herself at home.

And pray to somehow keep her distance.

“Gentlemen, I am soaked to the bone. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll change. Jeremiah, would you be so good to ask Mr. Dieter for some soup and hot tea? It would be excellent now. And I know that war effort leaves you with
few luxuries, but I’m sure some brandy was taken from my Northern escort, if you’ll be so kind as to fetch it. Gentlemen, thank you again for your welcome. You do make being a prisoner in this wretched war tolerable.”

She knew the ship, and she knew her way to the captain’s cabin. If she didn’t squish with every barefoot step she took, she might have made an incredibly dignified exit.

Jerome had ordered his maps and papers moved to David Stewart’s quarters, as they were the largest after the master’s cabin. Assured by Jeremiah that his guest had bathed, donned clean, dry clothing, and eaten her soup before retiring for the night, he sat in the bunk opposite the surgeon’s own.

Drinking. Staring dourly at David Stewart, Jerome downed a good measure of rum.

Marriage. So she’d intended to sail to England, forget the war—and marry! How could she?

And why, in God’s name, shouldn’t she? They were enemies; they had met passionately, but in lust and anger, not love. She’d named it from the very beginning, and she’d meant what she had said.

Marriage!

He’d be damned if it would happen. Yet it seemed she believed the newspapers that said he intended to marry Janine Thompson. Janine had probably created the story, perhaps planning on making it come true.

“This time, you could have just let her go, you know,” David said.

“Would you have left her in the shipping lanes with those idiots?” Jerome demanded.

David shrugged.

Jerome thought for a long moment. “We’re going down the St. Johns. I’ll arrange escort from Jacksonville to St. Augustine. A far better place to leave her than the shipping lanes.”

“As you say, Captain. Are you willing to share that rum?”

Jerome looked at the bottle, grimaced, and sat up to hand it across to David.

“Don’t you want to make sure she’s sleeping where she’s supposed to be?” David suggested.

“No,” Jerome lied. Then he sighed. “All right, I shall see to our guest.” He rose, surprised to realize he was reeling a bit. He gave himself a mental shake, and slipped out of David’s cabin and across the deck. He saluted Matt at the helm, and saw that Jeremiah sat quietly near him.

“Miss Magee?” he inquired.

“I believe she’s sleeping, sir.”

He nodded and said, “I’ll make sure she’s settled.” He strode toward the captain’s cabin. Opening the door, he found the room in almost total darkness. Moving across to the bunk, he forced himself not to dwell on the last time he’d seen her there.

Even in the darkness, he could see that she had the covers pulled to her throat. He reached down to touch her forehead. She felt warm. No—hot.

He swore, going back quickly for David. Jerome lit a lantern, David felt Risa’s forehead. She stirred, her eyes opening. They were glazed. She smiled. She might be ill, but her smile remained beautiful. “David…hello.”

“You’re sick, Risa,” David told her.

She shook her head. “Just—a fever. I’m all right.”

“I’m going to make you a draught with honey and lemon and whiskey, and I want you to drink every sip, and then we’ll keep your head cool, all right?”

She shook her head. “You mustn’t stay with me. You’ve injured men, David.”

“I’ll be in here,” Jerome said firmly.

Her eyes touched his. She didn’t protest. She was shivering from the fever. Her eyes closed.

David called for Jeremiah, giving him instructions as to how he wanted her toddy made. The lad ran off and returned, Jerome supported Risa, and she drank down the potion he gave her. She lay down again, and he remained at her side, cooling her forehead with damp cloths. After a while she stopped shivering, and she seemed to sleep. Then her rich dark lashes raised just slightly, and she spoke softly.

“Despite the fact that you’re a sea devil—a red savage
Rebel—you might make Miss Thompson a good husband, Captain. You do seem to be good at this.”

“I don’t dare let you get too ill, Miss Magee.”

“How noble of you.”

He gazed down at her, unable to read any emotion in the glitter of her beautiful blue, feverish eyes.

“If you decide you still want to go to England, Miss Magee, let me be your escort next time. I can actually get you there. But I’m afraid the wedding may have to wait awhile. You’re going to St. Augustine. And may I suggest that you don’t try to leave until I can escort you safely?”

“You can suggest anything you wish,” she told him. But as her eyes closed, she smiled. Then her smile faded, and he thought that she slept. Her forehead didn’t feel so hot. He shifted, easing down at the foot of the bunk.

Sometime later, he slept.

She awoke, thinking that she was going through the violently ill stages of her early pregnancy again and that it was her head and stomach pitching, and not the ship.

It was, however, the ship.

She tried to rise, but fell back into the bunk. While she struggled to come to her feet again, the cabin door burst open, and Jeremiah Jones entered. He wore a canvas raincoat and hood, and dripped in the cabin.

“Miss Magee!”

“Yes, Jeremiah.”

“Sit tight—we’ve encountered a squall!”

“Ah,” she murmured. “How bad?”

“Bad,” he replied. “But the captain’s at the wheel, and we’ll come through!” he promised her.

Jeremiah had told her to sit tight, and she did so. It seemed that the ship creaked and groaned as she was thrown mercilessly about on wild, bucking waves. At times Risa was convinced that they were doomed. The
Lady Varina
rocked up and down so high and so violently that it seemed she must roll over, but she did not.

By late afternoon the storm had passed them.

The crew, however, spent the rest of the day rescuing the men and the most necessary supplies from the Yank vessel—she was sinking. Hamlin had managed to bring
her through the storm, but the already crippled ship had been no match for it.

When Jeremiah came to see her that night with a supper tray, he told her sorrowfully that they were all worried about a number of the Yank crew—Captain Briggs and Lieutenant Waylon included—who had opted to depart in the longboats after she had been taken from them. “If the storm came upon them in the small boats, well…”

That night and the following day, Risa saw no one but Jeremiah. She slept a great deal, getting over the fever that had plagued her. She didn’t know if Jerome ever looked in to see if she was well, but she was deeply grateful that her illness had gotten no worse. An examination by his own ship’s doctor would have certainly put her in a perilous position.

She needn’t have feared. With the Yankee ship lost to the storm and at the bottom of the sea, they made fast time. But the end of the third night, she learned that scouts had been sent in to make certain Jacksonville was in Rebel hands. Then the ship ran at full speed through the night. From her bunk in the captain’s cabin, Risa awakened in terror to the sound of cannon fire. They were running past the blockaders into Jacksonville. It seemed that they raced, and that the guns blazed forever. But when the barrage was over, she stood in her white nightgown in the center of the cabin, bracing herself. The cabin door opened, and Jerome was there, splendid as always, a rogue with his long hair, billowing white sleeves, tight breeches, and high boots. A formidable silhouette in the night.

“You need to dress,” he told her abruptly. “I’ve made arrangements for your transport down to St. Augustine.”

She nodded, amazed at the disappointment that rose in her throat like bile. He didn’t intend to keep her, to come near her again. Well, what had she wanted?

“Thank you,” she said coolly.

He strode to her in the darkness of the cabin, just barely keeping his distance. “I should keep you, you know. Hang you from the yardarm. You’ve maligned me, and endangered my family. My sister was nearly
abducted, you know. Shots were fired; she could have been killed.”

“You are indignant regarding your sister, yet you thought nothing of kidnapping me.”

“You knew my plans; I had no choice.”

“And that’s why you seized the ship I was on!”

“Now, Miss Magee, I didn’t know you were on that ship but I probably saved your fool life. You were sailing on a long journey with total idiots.”

“Oh, really? Captain, your arrogance will hang you yet.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt it. And despite everything, you are now free.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly. “I’ll be pleased to see St. Augustine again and delighted to see Alaina.”

“Good,” he said, watching her with enigmatic eyes. “Because you’d best not plan to leave. If you have to get somewhere, tell Alaina. She’ll know how to find me.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m planning a wedding, remember?”

“The warning remains. Don’t leave St. Augustine, Miss Magee. The wedding will simply have to be postponed.”

“Ah, but what about your own wedding, Captain?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“Well, my
life
is not your concern, Captain!”

“Don’t attempt to leave.”

“You will not win this war!”

“But you
will
learn to surrender.”

“Not on your life, Captain.”

“We shall see, Miss Magee.”

With that, he left her. And she was furious to realize that there were tears in her eyes.

C
oming down the St. Johns was more difficult than it had ever been before. Since the Union forces had seized northeastern Florida, they had made the waters incredibly dangerous. Yankee soldiers had destroyed well over a thousand boats along the St. Johns, determined to keep Rebel forces on the western banks of the river. Their gunboats patrolled the river constantly, and they had done a good job of making it hell for the Rebels fighting them.

To the dismay of the Southern troops, there were many Floridians now swaying toward the Union side—and well-planned attacks were often discovered by the Union forces due to defecting Rebels who secreted information across the river.

Skirmishes along the water tended to be quick, violent hits. As Jerome ran past the Yanks down the river, eager to unload his rich cargo, he was barraged by Union guns a quarter of the way. He fired in return, keeping up his speed. Luckily, the Yanks were poorly supplied, and their guns were heavy and awkward, and couldn’t follow. When he reached the camp south of the river from St. Augustine, he was quickly guided into a cove, and warned by old Grant Jennar that the troops were moving upriver to meet a Yankee attack. Jerome and his crew joined with the Reb guerrilla forces, and found that their fellow Rebs had dug into shallow trenches, preparing for the violent fire that was to come.

The day passed, and then the night, as, on both sides, the officers tried to decide the right time and angle from which to attack. The dawn brought sporadic bursts of fire, then a series of raging charges that began and ended quickly. At the end of the fighting, no one had retreated,
and no one had moved forward. Jerome saw his cousin Julian and a number of his orderlies arrive to remove the wounded from the field on crude, mule-drawn conveyances. He left his position to help with the wounded, accepting Julian’s grim nod as the best greeting they could give one another at the time.

The wounded were secured, and Jerome slipped back into his position. Once again, the troops waited.

They were all certain that the firing was due to commence again when a white flag was raised from the enemy position.

“Reb! Johnny Reb!” came a call from the Union side.

From their own ranks, one of the soldiers at the front of the line answered. “Yeah, Yank?”

“Hold your fire. Got a Colonel McKenzie here, looking for his cousin. You got a Captain McKenzie back there?”

“We got a couple of McKenzies. A doc, a—”

“Sea captain?”

“He’s here, right as rain.”

“See if he’ll meet with the colonel. We can probably give them about two minutes before the bullets start flying again!”