The wind whipped the flags, making them snap. Out in front of them, the wide expanse of the ocean glittered like some magical path awaiting her.
"Make way there!" A blue and white uniformed man bellowed at the men working near her. He was wearing his naval officer coat along with his bicorn hat. Every button was securely
fashioned right up to his chin.
"I said clear a path for the lady."
The men parted and stared at her. The officer never left his position at the foot of the gangway.
Her stepfather's groom and driver deposited her trunk on the ground. A quick snap of the
officer's fingers and a pair of sailors hurried toward it. They lifted it without any sign of strain.
Every possession she had in the world went up the gangplank and disappeared onto the deck of the ship.
"I wish you well, Lorena."
Her reply was stuck in her throat. Some of his words made sense, even if she held years of
memories that were unpleasant as a result. She was strong and it was his constant dictates that had hardened her.
Godford swung the riding crop up and pointed its leather tip at the waiting officer. With a nod, Lorena took her last few steps on British soil. The bicorn hat was removed as she drew near.
"I'm to escort you to the captain, Miss St. John."
He extended his hand toward the gangway. It was rather narrow but a thick railing was in place on the right side. She grasped the rail and stepped up and away from her childhood.
Godford had made her strong, but her mother had taught her to love. There had to be a life out there which included both. But she doubted any husband selected by her stepfather would agree with her.
That was a pity because it left her with no hope for the future.
A pity indeed.
"There shall be strict discipline aboard this vessel, madam."
The sight of Captain Connell contradicted his words. Oh the man was neat, his uniform pressed to perfection. But he was a portly man, his belly as round as the barrels being stowed below the open deck on board his ship. The man clearly did not exercise any discipline when it came to the supper table. The men serving under him were lanky and thin, proving that he did not share those large meals. They hurried about the deck, sweat glistening on their skin.
"You shall cause distraction by your very gentler." His upper lip actually curled slightly.
"I believe the entire reason I am embarking on this voyage is due to the fact that I am a female."
And there was no way she was going to begin living under the same scrutiny she had with
Godford. Her stepfather was at the bottom of the gangplank, his unexpected confessions still foremost in her mind. But the man in front of her was the one trying to impose his will on her now. It seemed wisest to deal with him instead of dwelling on her past. She would have plenty of days at sea to keep company with her thoughts.
"Indeed. I am well aware of the circumstances." He glared at her, frowning when she failed to lower her gaze in the face of his displeasure. He sniffed before shaking his head.
"This is a crown vessel and shall run as such. You will restrict yourself to the areas of the deck my lieutenant shows you. Transporting Commissioner Mordaunt's bride to Bermuda is an honor.
That is all."
The captain dismissed her with a wave of his plump hand. Another impeccably dressed man
moved around him to take charge of her. The lieutenant seemed loath to converse with her
beyond pointing to a small section of the command deck which was for her use during the trip.
He did not introduce himself either. Only her knowledge of military-rank insignias gained from reading gave her any clue as to who he was.
"You shall not step past this line." A thin white line was painted on the deck and it still glistened.
Directly behind the wheel, the area was the size of a town-house balcony. The man kept his
hands tightly clasped behind his back and his eyes on anything save for her.
That was not an oddity either. Every sailor they passed looked away the moment they realized their gaze had touched her. Behind her the captain was shouting orders. Men scurried up the rigging to untie the canvas sails in response. They wore loose-legged pants which ended at the ankle. Many of the men in the rigging were barefoot, their shoes left on the deck. Their knitted caps were pulled down low on their heads and she could see the wind whipping their pants about.
"You will find your trunk in your cabin. I must return to the command deck."
It was the same deck.
All the lieutenant did was step over the white line. He joined the other officers gathered near the captain in front of the large wheel. They looked out over the ship, giving her their backs. Her section of deck was at the rear of the vessel. But it was high, affording her a view of the ocean.
The deck rolled beneath her feet when the loosened sails filled. They billowed out like clouds pulling the ship toward the open water. The wind whipped into the bonnet trying to tug it off, but the two hatpins held firm. Her skirt rippled and flattened against her legs. The air smelled fresh.
She drew in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of salt and open water. Her heart accelerated, sending blood through her veins faster.
It was exciting, she could not deny it. The blue surface sparkled with a thousand pieces of reflected sunlight. The canvas above her strained and the ropes creaked. The sailors leaned over the rail, calling out to those left on the dock. Placing a firm hand on the rail, Lorena looked down too. Women waved to those on the departing ship, some of them with children held in their arms or firmly by the hand. The other two ships were following their example, the men climbing up the rope ladders to untie the sails. Back on shore, empty wagons waited for those who were
waving goodbye. An honor guard played the drums and flutes in a military beat while the flag was held at attention. Even a parson was there in his black robe, making the sign of the cross with his hand. It was a grand send-off for a royal naval ship. The officers stood stiffly at attention, their faces set into stern masks of military discipline. In fact the only thing odd was herself. Her skirts billowed with the wind behind the stern-looking officers.
Her stepfather watched her. Their eyes met and for once she recognized how alike they were.
Both determined to follow their conscience. He lifted one gloved hand in farewell. Hers rose in spite of years of bitterness. He would go home to her sisters, so she waved.
The ship glided across the water, heading away from land. Behind her the officers conversed about nautical directions. The ship rolled but her stomach remained sound. She was too
enchanted by the motion to become sick. It was a feast for the senses. So used to being shut up indoors, the fresh air was intoxicating. She took large breaths and laughed when her nose turned cold. The gloves on her hands drew a lament from her; she wanted to feel the wind against her bare skin.
But that would be unwise. Godford was correct, gossip needed to be avoided at all costs. A lone woman aboard a ship must keep up appearances. The bonnet limited her vision at the sides, but it too should remain pinned to her hair.
It must be decadent to stand in the sea breeze in nothing but a shift...
She laughed at her own brazen thoughts but didn't rein her imagination in. Since it appeared she had naught but her own company for the voyage, she would indulge her whims. She turned her
head to take in everything. Other ships were sailing out, but there were also ones waiting for the tide to change so they might sail in. Men clung to the riggings of those ships, their faces hungry for shore. Lorena stared at them, wondering how long it would be until she began to long for the sight of land. Wasn't that the true humor of fate? What excited her at that very moment would sicken her in a few weeks when she was tired of the voyage.
Well, she would enjoy the moment while it still drove her heart faster.
Because all too soon that might end. Adam Mordaunt might very well be the image of Godford.
Her coming marriage yet another life filled with duty and strict expectation. Keeping hope close to her heart, she looked out to sea, refusing to dread the future.
Hope was all she had and she discovered it comforting.
Three weeks later.. .Bermuda
The island had been a paradise until the British began laying their fort on it. Warren stared at the faint outline of its tree-covered surface. He could almost taste the suffering on the wind. At the very tip of the southern end of the island, thick walls rose above the trees. Every brick was carved out of limestone by forced labour. Convicts and prisoners of the British working like slaves to build a fortress which would ensure British power on the sea. With a fortress at
Bermuda, their ships could harass Americans without fear of running out of supplies.
His brothers were there. He felt it in his gut. Hidden behind the walls, Garrick and Harrison were waiting for him, waiting for rescue. Royal marines patrolled the walls, their rifles slung on their shoulders. The gates were guarded by cannon and the men working those weapons protected by
heavy limestone blocks. The strings of men laying new walls were chained together with leg
irons. For anyone brought to the fort in chains, it was a horror beyond words, the sheer height of the walls pressing helplessness down on them.
The sun was sinking low. They'd sailed in closer under the cover of darkness and rowed the last mile by hand in a lifeboat. The walls were incomplete, giving him a way to enter the island fortress. He'd have to swim in and find a way to conceal himself among the inhabitants. An
assault was out of the question. The Huntress could never take the fort alone.
But he'd never let the odds stop him before. No captain worth his rank did. Cunning could net you the prize if you were willing to pit your wits against the enemy. A grin lifted his lips. He was going to use that British arrogance against them. Slip in under their noses and find a way to gain his brothers' freedom. He would find the means, any one that presented itself.
He swore it.
"She's pretty."
Lorena paused on the stairs which led to the command deck. No one spoke to her. After so many days with only her own company, listening to conversation was becoming attractive.
"Never you mind about that. She's going to be the commissioner's wife. Mordaunt isn't a man to cross."
"Well, she is pretty." It was the youngest officer talking. He was little more than a boy. His family must have purchased his commission in the royal navy. He wore the coat of an officer and every sailor working on the ship was expected to tug his cap in respect when he passed.
"Pretty has nothing to do with it. She has a dowry worth quite a bit. A share in the St. John shipbuilding yard, I hear. I wish I'd known she was ripe for wedding. I'd have set my father to trying to gain her."
Her throat tightened. She hadn't thought upon it. Her place aboard a crown vessel suddenly made itself clearer. She was little more than cargo. Her enjoyment of the voyage died in a sizzle of temper. Men were cruel creatures.
Indeed they were.
"Bastard," Harrison Rawlins muttered under his breath. "British arrogant bastard."
"But a smart one."
Harrison looked up, half-afraid the heat had succeeded in driving him insane. He blinked, unable to believe Warren stood in the stone barracks he was imprisoned in.
"Holy shit. How did they take you?" Garrick growled and surged to his feet. A clatter of iron against iron bounced between the walls.
Warren glanced behind him at the main doorway, but his luck held and the guards were too busy escaping the midday heat to bother looking in at them. Sweat ran down his face but it was worth it. The stone bunker his brothers were kept in felt like the mouth of hell. A single door in the front did little to cool it. Six feet long with a low ceiling, the structure absorbed the tropical sun like an oven.
"They didn't. It took me a bloody week to get in here."
Garrick looked at his brother's legs and grinned when he didn't find a ball and chain. "I'll be God damned. I'd love to see Mordaunt's face when he hears someone broke into his fort."
"I'd rather imagine his face when we make good our escape, and he realizes his prize has slipped from his grasp."
Garrick lifted his right foot. "As do I, brother. But any man wearing a chain gets shot if he gets too close to the main gate."
"A few of the poor sods who have been here too long go walking up there hoping to put an end to their misery." Harrison cast a glance at the paper in front of him. His knuckles were white around a pencil. "But those bastards put their shot through a leg and leave their victims at the mercy of festering wounds instead of killing them straight away."
Warren looked at the table in front of Garrick. The outline of a vessel was sketched out on a sheet of paper, an American vessel.
"Aye, Mordaunt has me dancing to his tune." Disgust coated his brother's words. "He put the thumbscrews on Ronan there. And that wasn't the half of what torments he planned if I didn't start giving him the information he wants. He's got an interrogation cell up the hill behind that damned house of his that looks like something from medieval Europe. Everything except a rack."
The surgeon from the Golden Dawn stiffened from where he was sitting on the other side of the stone room. "It wasn't that bad."
"For me it was." Garrick snarled softly. "He knows what he's doing. He wants information on American ships and his bully men made sure they brought along enough of my men to make me
give it to him."
Warren cussed. Low and deep and for once he figured his mother would approve. There was
nothing that could bring a captain to his knees like the suffering of his own men.
Garrick dropped his pencil. "You shouldn't have come here. It's bad enough they have us."
"They don't have me." Warren spoke with a menacing tone his brothers rarely heard. But his brothers were correct in their thinking, getting into the main fort was easier than leaving it. He didn't plan on letting that stop him.