When she had finished scrubbing down the walls and floor, the pungent odor of lye soap pervaded the air, but it, too, was a good smell, for it chased the mustiness from the corners. Taking a moment from her labors, Cat wrote a letter to Budd.
"I don’t know when this will reach you," she began, "but I hope you are not worried about me. I am safe aboard a ship and doing well. It is quite as you said it should be, except for a few of the finer details you failed to mention, namely the water, the food, and the smell. The water tastes like the metal it is stored in, the food is awful (even though they say we have been eating well since leaving port), and the air below decks is foul. But you would be quite proud of me as I am a real sailor, and even the first mate said so."
The letter was brief because she simply wanted to set his mind at ease without saying too much. Smiling ruefully, she added "Cabin Boy" to her signature. She did not want Budd to think she was lodged with the crew, where it was dark, damp, and overcrowded, the air truly unwholesome.
It never occurred to her that Budd might not be reassured to know she was sleeping in the captain’s cabin, for Cat was well pleased with the hammock strung up for her in a corner of the room.
She folded the letter, then opened it again, wondering whether she should explain the reason for her sudden departure from Wellshire. She did not want Budd to think she was foolhardy, running off to sea like an irresponsible child, but neither did she want to worry him needlessly with tales of Edward’s treachery.
She frowned, hoping Budd would not think her a coward for flying from the different circumstances at her childhood home. But how things had changed.
Although Budd often muttered under his breath about Cat’s lack of supervision, she was used to having the run of the big house, while her stepfather traveled or lived in London, leaving only a few servants at Wellshire. She supposed it was a lonely life, but it was one that had suited her until her stepfather suddenly appeared with Edward in tow.
Lord Wellshire had been estranged from Edward’s mother, but when she died, the young man had presented himself to his uncle, sporting a sheen of fine manners that had charmed her stepfather. And the next thing Cat knew, Lord Wellshire was grooming his heir for the responsibilities of a country home… until the accident.
A poacher’s stray bullet had felled her stepfather, or so the authorities said. But Cat had not been satisfied with that explanation. And, apparently, Edward had gotten wind of her suspicions.
She shook her head in grief and anger, remembering the casual manner in which he had admitted his guilt. Her cousin had appeared in her life only to destroy it, and he had done so in an astonishingly quick period of time. Now he was enjoying her stepfather’s title and property, while she...
"Cat!"
Cat almost jumped at the sound of her name and turned swiftly toward the tall figure striding through the cabin door.
"I’m here, captain," she said, putting the letter away. Glancing up at him, she was struck by how handsome he looked. Some brown locks carelessly brushed his forehead, and his open throated white shirt revealed dark hair dampened with sweat on his chest.
He walked to the middle of the room and stopped abruptly, a puzzled expression on his face. "What the devil is that smell?" he asked.
"Soap, sir. I scrubbed down the cabin," Cat said, surprised by his incredulous look. "I found some in the stores, soap, that is, sir. I hope it’s all right." Her words trailed off lamely.
He broke into a grin, displaying even white teeth. "All right? By God, it’s almost civilized." He laughed, then sat down on the edge of the bed and stripped off his shirt. "Well, it’s a good day for cleaning then. I’m for a bath. How about you?"
"No, thank you, sir," Cat said, darting her eyes away from the muscles on his bare back.
"Perhaps I phrased that incorrectly," Ransom said, removing his boots. "You have not had a bath since boarding this vessel, correct?"
"No, sir, but..."
He didn’t let her finish. "You’ll find I don’t hold with the superstition that it’s unlucky to bathe while aboard, mainly because I prefer to be able to breathe in the presence of my crew. And you are definitely beginning to stink," he said.
"Although there are men on board who smell worse than you do, I don’t share my cabin with them. Therefore, you will take a bath. You can use the tub when I’m finished. Now run along and fetch me some water. Get the cook to help you."
Cat hurried to do the captain’s bidding, her mind working all the while on how to avoid the bath. The buckets of salt water were heavy, and she was out of breath when she entered the room, a grumbling cook at her heels.
"Fer God’s sake, will you hurry?" Hale complained with disgust, pushing past her. Outweighing Cat several times over, he lifted his buckets easily, emptying them into a brass tub that now stood in the center of the cabin. Then he was gone, pushing past Cat to return to his domain.
Cat stepped forward while nervously eyeing the captain, who was yanking off his boots. The difficult task of lifting each unwieldy bucket to the side of the tub required her full attention, but when the last was emptied, she glanced back at the captain, only to find him stripping off his breeches. She turned to hasten from the room, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Hold, lad, I won’t be long," he said. "And you’ll want yours before the water cools."
Cat steeled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned around for her first look at a man. Her breathing stopped as she saw him step into the tub. He was beautiful: tall and lean, flat-stomached and wide-shouldered, his whole body firm, and his skin a warm golden color. And where the gold ended...
She quickly averted her gaze and busied herself laying out towels and clean clothes for him as she listened to the sounds of his bath. But every now and again she discreetly glanced at his muscled back as he lathered, and the picture of his naked form was branded on her brain forever.
When he was finished, Cat willed the blush to leave her face and began laying out her own clean clothes.
"Well, lad, it’s all yours," the captain said, and Cat could hear him toweling off, although she studiously avoided looking his way.
"I’ll be wanting my privacy, sir, if it’s all the same to you," she mumbled.
The captain burst out laughing, and she shot a glance toward him. He watched her from under the square of linen he was moving roughly over his hair. "What’s this? Have you something I’ve not seen?"
"Yes, sir," Cat answered. Turning to face him, she looked him straight in the eye. "Scars, sir. Birth scars. A horrible sight, they are. I’m quite conscious of them," she added, hanging her head in apparent shame.
"Hmm… well, have it your way then, lad," the captain said gruffly, running a hand through his wet locks. He donned his breeches and boots and, grabbing a shirt, opened the cabin door.
But before leaving, he tossed a warning over his shoulder. "If I find you didn’t wash, my lad, I’ll toss you in the ocean for your bath, make no mistake." And then he was gone.
Cat listened for his receding footsteps, then shot the bolt on the door, just to be sure. She stripped off her clothes, leaving in place the cloth that wound around her chest, tightly binding her breasts.
If the captain reappeared, she would elaborate on the scar story, while hoping he looked no closer. With a nervous sigh, she stepped into the tub, determined to make quick work of her ablutions.
But the water felt glorious, and Cat had to force herself to rush, while straining her ears for any sound outside the cabin door. Still, she could not help thinking of Ransom, who had been sitting in her place a few minutes before, and the memory of his naked body made her shiver in the oddest fashion.
Cat shook off the mood as she stepped from the water and hurried into her clothes, hoping for her own sake that Ransom was not a stickler for hygiene, for bathing in these close quarters was too nerve-racking. When the
Reckless
reached warmer climes, she would do her washing in the ocean.
Once dressed again as a boy, Cat immediately went up on deck to make sure the captain noted her clean state. It would not do for him to start checking on her bathing habits, and besides, she wanted him to trust her.
As the days passed, Cat’s wish was granted, for she did earn her captain’s trust. She was assigned additional responsibilities, including copying down the ship’s accounts, yet her hopes of kindling a friendship with Ransom Duprey dwindled.
Although she spent more time with him, he reminded her little of the stranger who had rescued her from Edward. And she began to wonder just what kind of man he was.
Cat knew that he was held in high esteem by the crew. In the kind of life where death could suddenly loom imminent, a man with the ability to make swift decisions was invaluable, and the captain had proven himself many times over to his men. He kept them healthy, too, using the newest ideas to maintain his ship and fend off illness, even if it meant serving up plates of onions for supper. Fruits and vegetables, now thought to aid in the sailor’s constant battle against disease, were not always readily available, but the crew of the
Reckless
were better off than most.
More important to his men, the captain paid a good wage. Although the sailors on most privateers received minimal pay and did not share in any of the prizes taken, Ransom Duprey made sure his men received at least some of the booty, ensuring a loyalty that was rare on any ocean.
Yet, despite the fierce devotion most of the crew felt for their enigmatic captain, few could claim his friendship, for Ransom kept his distance. He was not arrogant or haughty, but cool, more cool than when she had met him, Cat thought, trying to make sense of his behavior. He held himself apart from those around him, except for Bert, the only one aboard who seemed on easy terms with him.
On the other hand, he barely looked at his cabin boy, Cat thought. And she eyed the first mate with a bit of what someone else might have called jealousy.
***
When Cat finally captured her captain’s attention, she could have wished for a more propitious moment. A storm struck around midnight, sending the
Reckless
pitching and rolling from side to side so that Cat was sure the huge ship would capsize at any moment.
Her old fear of storms, thought conquered long ago, resurfaced with each deafening crack of thunder. As no lantern would stay lit, the darkness in the cabin was absolute until a bright steak of lightening rent the sky, illuminating the room with its eerie glow.
The captain had instructed her to stay in his cabin, and Cat had not argued, but as the night wore on, she longed for the presence of another soul, for reassurance from some old salt that the "little blow" would soon be over. But she clung to the bedpost until the door burst open and a sudden pitch of the floor sent her across the room smack against the captain like a sack of potatoes.
With several well-chosen oaths, he finally got Cat to her feet, and she helped him from his greatcoat as water poured from the cloth and dripped from every inch of his body. He stripped off his sodden clothes, too, and Cat threw a blanket over his shoulders before she scurried about in the darkness to find him fresh clothing.
"You can light the lamp, lad," he said as he sank into a chair, and Cat did, her heart warmed by the tiny flame that chased away the shadows.
"Is it over then?" she asked, realizing that the ship seemed steadier, the pitch less wild.
"The worst of it," Ransom said.
Something in his voice made Cat turn toward him sharply, and she was shocked by what she saw. His face was pale and drained, wet locks matted to his face, and his stiff posture hinted at the exhaustion that would have laid another man low.
She knew that he had not slept at all, had spent the night fighting sheets of biting rain on a tossing deck so slippery that just staying upright took all one’s strength. Although seemingly invincible, the captain was human, something Cat had almost forgotten.
Without a word, she poured him a whiskey and pressed the cup into his icy fingers. Grabbing a towel, she walked behind him and stood drying his hair as he drank. Her first efforts were brisk and businesslike, but her movements gradually slowed as she became aware of the way his dark locks gleamed in the dim light. His hair was vibrant and alive beneath her fingers, and when Cat felt a shiver run through her, she laid the towel aside, acutely self-conscious.
Cat turned away, but as she did, she noticed that the blanket had slipped down Ransom’s arms. Chiding herself for placing her girlish nervousness before her captain’s comfort, she tentatively laid her hands on his shoulders. Without pausing to examine the sensation, she began kneading his tired muscles and soon felt him relax.
"Can I get you some supper?" she asked, trying to ignore the feel of his skin beneath her fingers.
"No, lad." He sighed, pulling the blanket close around him, and stood up. "I’m for bed, but see if Bert wants anything. Mr. Peabody is in charge."
"Well, we needn’t worry, then. If the storm starts blowing again, Old Stone Face will just stare it out of countenance," Cat said dryly.
As soon as the words left her mouth, she caught herself and shot a glance at the captain. After all, she was making fun of the ship’s master. Relief washed over her when she heard Ransom laugh, soft and low, and the sound was so delightful, she decided then and there to make him laugh more often.
"So, Mr. Peabody is Old Stone Face, is he? And what am I?" he asked.
"Oh, you’re too perfect for a nickname," she answered, ingenuously. "You don’t have anything glaringly wrong with you, like Stinkard..."
"Let me guess," Random said. "The red-haired fellow… Marlowe! He is quite ripe."
"Or Blubber Belly..."
"Cook."
"Shark Bait..."
"Hmm. I suspect that is someone you’ve developed an extreme dislike for, although none of the others you’ve named are particularly pleasant.” He paused. “It’s Mule isn’t it?"