Kimberly Nee - The McKenzie Brothers (6 page)

Henry didn’t look perturbed as he leaned against the doorframe. “Aye, I’ll wager you will. I’ve been with Captain McKenzie for some time now. I also know what type of — shall we say, lady? — would share the cabin of a man she isn’t married to.”

“And how is it you know I’ve not married the Captain?”

“For starters, he introduced you as Morgan, not McKenzie. Secondly, the captain isn’t a marrying man. Third, you aren’t wearing a wedding ring. So, you just watch your step, miss.”

“I suggest the same for you,” she retorted, glaring at him. “You have no idea to whom you are speaking or you would surely never adopt this tone.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I ought to know a whore when I see one.”

Heather could not have possibly heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

He was nonplussed. “You heard me. Now, I’ve got work to do.”

With that, he turned and stomped away. Henry’s taunt still ringing in her ears, Heather stepped into the cabin and slammed the door as much fury as she could muster.

“Of all the nerve!” Her stomach roiled painfully, tears pricking her eyes. If he looked down on her, convinced she was a strumpet, would the others do so as well?

And what about Drew’s family? How would he explain her presence to them? Would they, too, take one look at her and know the truth?

“So this is how everyone will think,” she whispered to the four walls. “And I suppose I ought become used to everyone treating me as if I am no better than the dirt smudging their shoes?”

A heavy sigh worked its way free as she glanced around. Drew might not speak of his wealth, but it was apparent in this cabin. Although not large by any means, it was very well appointed and tastefully decorated.

He’d kept it simple. His desk, the dining table, the wardrobe, and the bed — all bolted to the ship — were light-colored oak with clawed feet and surprisingly delicate scrollwork.

The desk was littered with papers and charts, quills and bottles of ink. She pulled the chair away from it and sat down, sinking into the rich leather.

It was odd to be sitting at Drew’s desk, touching his things, seeing this other side of him — the responsible sea captain. She hadn’t missed the respect he commanded from his crew, hadn’t missed how easily he donned the mantle of leadership.

She ran a finger over the beveled edge of the desk. It was disconcerting. He gave no impression of being the sort who would think nothing of buying a woman. And yet, there she was. He was a responsible, respected businessman and sea captain. So why the devil did he spend all that money for her?

She thought about what Henry said and her anger returned. Only she directed it at herself. How could she be angry at him? He spoke the truth and the sooner she accepted it, the sooner words such as his wouldn’t sting.

But how did she do that? She didn’t feel like a fallen woman, didn’t feel weak, or diseased as she’d been told fallen women were. She felt almost the same as she had a week earlier. No. That wasn’t entirely true. She was still furious with her father. If anything, she was even more furious with him now. Henry’s words stoked that fiery anger. Damn her father. This was
his
fault, really. He’d sold her into her situation. Sold her in order to right his credit at Coal’s. Bastard.

She sighed softly. “And this is what I am now. This is what I am.”

Of course, it wasn’t too terrible so far. But still, she needed to speak with Drew to find out exactly what he intended to tell his family once they reached Brunswick. After all, he couldn’t keep her a secret, could he?

Chapter Ten

It was nearly suppertime before Drew finished up his business and was back on board the
Triton
. He checked up on Scottie and Bobby, learned the cargo had been secured in the hold and went in search of Henry.

“Henry, a word, if you don’t mind,” Drew said as he approached the younger man. Henry Donaldson had started out as his cabin boy, until he grew tired of Henry’s sour disposition. The lad was a decent enough worker so Drew allowed him to stay on as the bosun’s mate. The others grumbled about Henry to him, their complaints escalating to the point where Drew already decided this was to be Henry’s last voyage. He’d already stripped away most of Henry’s duties, while the rest of the crew chose to ignore him overall. It created a bit of tension, but not enough that Drew couldn’t overlook it for now.

Henry nodded. “Of course, Captain.”

“I understand you saw Miss Morgan to my cabin. Does she have everything she needs?”

“Of course, Captain. I wouldn’t be doing my duty if she didn’t.”

“Did she ask you for anything?”

“Not a thing, sir.”

“Have you at least been down to see that all is well?”

Henry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No, sir. I hadn’t realized it was my duty to watch over her.”

Drew sighed. “I assume Mr. Aldridge told you it was my order to make certain she was comfortable. Didn’t you stop to think that might mean you’d have to go out of your way and check up on her every so often?”

“My apologies, sir.”

“Get back to work,” Drew replied shortly, his temper flaring. “Before I decide to put you off right here.”

Henry shuffled off, leaving Drew to stare at his skinny, receding back. He had to think about replacing Henry. He didn’t know how much longer he could tolerate the lad’s insolence, which had gotten steadily worse over the past year.

He was still shaking his head when he reached his cabin. The door was closed, but unlocked, and when he rapped on it, he got no response.

He opened the door. Heather had fallen asleep, stretched out on the bed, and looked peaceful. He paused, hand on the doorknob, and smiled. She looked so comfortable, her chestnut tresses spread over the stark white pillows. Her lashes were sooty crescents against her cheeks and her lips were slightly parted. At once, he had the strongest urge to cover those soft lips with his own.

Although it was nearly summer, the breeze drifting through the open window was cool. Drew unfolded the light quilt at the foot of the bed and drew it over her. She stretched, sighing and grasping the quilt tighter around her.

It was hard to believe only a week had passed since that fateful night. He felt as though he’d known her so much longer. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. She was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. One moment she displayed a will of iron. The next, she wilted before his eyes. He didn’t understand. She behaved as if she thought he expected complete obedience — as if she was his slave.

His
slave
.

He groaned softly, dropping his head to the desktop. It suddenly made sense. She knew he’d paid that outrageous sum to Coal. So, if Coal more or less owned her, and Drew paid that sum, Heather must feel that now
he
owned her instead.

“No wonder she is so hesitant to disagree with me, or is so quick to refer to me as ‘master.’” He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes ruefully. So far, things weren’t turning out the way they were supposed to.

Drew sat back, wincing as Bridget popped into his mind. He didn’t want to think about her, not now. How could she still appear so easily, when he tried so hard to keep her from his thoughts?

Heather stirred and Drew turned. She was awake, stretching, then sitting up. “Oh, you’re back.”

“I’m back. I apologize for the delay. It took longer than I expected.”

“Have we left yet?”

He nodded. “We slipped from port about half an hour ago. Would you care to go topside and take a last look around?”

“Might I?”

“Certainly.” He pushed himself up from his chair and walked over to the bed. He held out his hand to help her to her feet, drawing her up beside him. “How was your nap?”

“Refreshing.”

He sensed she was still troubled, but it didn’t seem that she was still angry with him. Still, it was best to get everything out in the open. That way, he could avoid any unpleasant surprises once the sun set. “I wanted to apologize for my callous remark earlier, Heather. I did not mean it the way it sounded to you.”

“Really?” Icicles hung from that one word.

Then again, perhaps she
was
still angry with him. He sighed.

“Really. Heather, you don’t have to worry about how I see you. Trust me, you are every inch the lady.” He touched her cheek. Her skin was so soft, he almost couldn’t help himself. It was like a reflex. “I don’t give a damn where you were when we met. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it
does
matter, Drew. Do you know what your glorified cabin boy said to me?”

Cold fury welled up from the pit of his stomach as Heather repeated what Henry had said. Anger twisted into a tight fist in his gut. “That son of a bitch.”

Her expression became quizzical as she stared up at him. “Drew?”

“Excuse me for a moment,” he replied gruffly, turning away to head for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to give that boy what’s been long overdue.”

She chased him down the narrow corridor toward the stairs. “What are you going to do?”

“Make certain he thinks long and hard before he opens his mouth again.”

Drew stormed topside, ignoring the crewmen who stopped what they were doing and stared. His eyes fixed on Henry, who was lounging against the bulkhead, smoking a cigar while everyone around him worked.

The cigar went flying over the railing as Drew grabbed a fistful of Henry’s shirt. Drew lifted the man easily, Henry’s feet dangling a good six inches from the deck. Heather’s eyes widened, her gaze falling on Drew’s arm, watching with great interest as the muscles strained his sleeve. She held her breath, waiting for the fabric to split under the pressure.

“I ought to break you in half, boy,” he snarled, oblivious to the terror filling Henry’s eyes. “You ever speak to Heather again. You so much as
look
at her, and I will crush you, do you understand? You have any little comments, you keep them to yourself or else
I will crush you
.” He glanced at his crew, all now staring at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. “I hear anything —
anything at all
— derogatory about Miss Morgan and there will be hell to pay! Am I clear?”

Henry’s tanned skin went ashen. “Y-yes, sir.”

With that, Drew sent him airborne with little effort. The bony man slammed into the deck in a heap, letting out a pathetic groan.

Drew moved to stand over the bosun’s mate, struggling to control his raging fury. He wanted to kill Henry, wanted to pick him and break him in two. It’d been ages since Drew last lost his temper but he was close to doing just that. Dangerously close.

He managed to tamp it down, turning to Bobby to say, “I want this sack of — ” He glanced at Heather. “ — that is — lock him in the hold. Tell Mr. Allen he is to make certain he does not get out. Put him in chains and keep him there until we reach New Jersey.”

“Aye, Captain.” Bobby motioned to one of the other men to help as he bent over Henry and grabbed a skinny wrist.

Drew crossed his arms as his temper threatened to erupt again. Tension corded his shoulders, spread an ache down along his back, and the only way to relieve it was to move.

He crossed the deck toward Heather, who stared up at him as if she’d never seen him before. She hesitated, then came toward him. “I cannot believe you did that. In front of everyone, no less.”

“I did it in front of everyone so they know damn well to watch their mouths,” he growled, his eyes still dangerously dark. “The next one just might feel the sting of the lash.”

She opened her mouth, but then snapped it closed. Her gaze dropped. “Of course.”

The last of his fury abated at her bowed head. He took a slow, deep breath, and linked his fingers with hers. “I promised you a last look at England, didn’t I?”

Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled gently on her arm and led her to the stern of the ship. Heather braced against the railing, silent as she stood beside him, just staring out at the retreating land.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. Drew glanced down to see tears sliding along her cheeks. The need to comfort her rose, so he released her hand to ease that arm about her shoulders.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” her voice was shaky as she swiped at her left cheek with one hand, “but I can’t help it.”

“So cry,” he told her, drawing her into his arms. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”

Her laugh emerged as a hiccup. “Who here would care?”

He caught her under the chin, lifting her face to his. Her eyes were red, but now dry. He wanted to kiss her, to make her smile, but didn’t want to do it with an audience, and there were still plenty of men milling about. Leaning close, he murmured, “Shall we go below, Miss Morgan?”

This time, her laugh was genuine. She tucked her head against him. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”