Five
The first important lesson Cadence learned living aboard ship was that sailors were a damned superstitious lot. No, make that the second important lesson. The first lesson was an acute awareness of the abominable hygiene practices entertained aboard ship. She shuddered to think of the stench permeating the lower decks. The first mate had been assigned the task of teaching the new cabin boy the ways and mores of shipboard life. The majority of their hours together consisted of the mate instructing her of the overall jinxes of seafaring. It was a known fact that sailors embraced superstition as no other culture throughout history, but really this was ridiculous. It wasn’t so much the superstition that was ridiculous as what they chose to be superstitious about.
“So let me get this straight.” Cadence lifted a heavy coil of line over her shoulder, nearly staggering under its weight. “It is bad luck to have a woman on board, but good luck to have a baby born while at sea.”
“Aye,” Mr. Bowen nodded.
“Doesn’t a woman have to be on board for a baby to be born?”
The mate didn’t miss a beat. “Right you are, but the good luck of having a baby on board counters the bad luck of the woman. You see?”
“But would that be no luck at all since one count of good luck and one count of bad luck cancel each other out?”
“Aye, now you’re seein’ the way of it.” The mate grinned. “But no luck at all is better than bad luck.”
Her head spun around what seemed a never ending and unsolvable riddle. “What about when there is a woman on board, but no baby?”
“You’re sharp as a whip, Cam, sharp as a whip,” the man chortled. “You see having a naked woman on the vessel will counter the bad luck of having a woman on board.”
Cadence blinked at least twice before her eyes widened into saucers. “Naked?”
“You know the lady adorning the bow?”
“Er, the one shaped like a mermaid?”
“Aye, well,” Mr. Bowen leaned in as though revealing a big secret. “She is our naked lady to keep misfortunes at bay.”
“Are you filling the cabin boy’s head with all of your nonsense?” Curtis strode up behind them.
“I’m sure I don’t know what nonsense you’d be speakin’ of Cap'n.” Mr. Bowen winked toward Cadence. “We were just about to be makin’ the rounds, sir. Did Cam clean your cabin satisfactorily this morning, and deliver you breakfast in good time?”
“He’s learning well. Carry on.” Curtis nodded dismissively.
“Come along, Cam.” Mr. Bowen heaved a coil of line over his shoulder waiting for her to follow him across the gently rolling deck.
* * *
Watching his first officer and cabin boy amble off Curtis contemplated the boy he knew as Cameron James.
The lad was a puzzle.
And for some reason Cam made Curtis nervous. The boy was quiet and never looked anyone directly in the eye. War had taught Curtis to be downright cynical and untrusting at a very young age, but war had also taught him to trust his instincts, and when it came to Cam his instincts fairly screamed something was not as it seemed. Through experience Curtis had drawn the firm conclusion that any man who didn’t look you in the eye was either a coward or a liar.
In any case whenever Curtis probed the subject of the lad’s past Cam’s jaws clenched tighter than an oyster protecting a precious pearl. From the corner of his eye Curtis spotted the agile youngster swinging up into the crow’s nest and a vague sense of familiarity flared to life once again. With a grunt he turned away. It would come to him eventually. Curtis Langston never forgot a face.
Ambling to the rail he observed the rising swells off the port bow. The clouds hung ominous and purple above the ship. Years at sea told him a gale would be upon them shortly. Leaning against the scarred oak rail he interlaced calloused fingers. He loved a good storm, a perplexing trait for a sailor no doubt, but there was something about battling the elements and coming out on top that he found… invigorating… empowering. Hell, if he could survive a storm perhaps even he wasn’t entirely out of God’s favor.
But it wasn’t just storms Curtis loved, it was the sea. At sea life was what he made of it. The sea made men equals, as God intended. Out here there were no politics or a misbegotten sense of honor and loyalty to die for… No Lt. Colonel Fielding to take orders from. Curtis had seen men abuse power and on the Heavenly Mistress no man was master but him, and he’d long ago resolved to run a tight ship, but a fair one.
For the last four years Curtis had lost himself in the sea, relishing the adventure and escape. He’d been forever content to drift endlessly upon the expanse of the Atlantic, and farther, into the Orient and back again, but this time something was different. He felt discontent with being gone and deep down he knew the difference was Cadence Jamison. This voyage Curtis was anxious to make port, pick up a good cargo and sail again, anxious to go back to her.
Folly! It was pure folly to spend so much time thinking of her, imagining what she was doing, and, God help him, wanting to see her. He should never have kissed her in Charleston. It had been a single moment of weakness and now he was hopelessly lost. But he could never let anything come of his feelings. Murderers didn’t deserve women like Cadence. Allan West certainly couldn’t find a woman or marry or live happily ever after and neither could Billy Cole.
Inadvertently, he shuddered, but when he closed his eyes it was not the faces of anguish which had haunted him these last five years, but the smiling face of Cadence Jamison. It was blessed relief and opening his eyes he smiled at what he would have sworn was a violet eyed beauty, an angel, watching him just beneath the surface of the water. Thinking of Cadence he felt warm. What could be the harm in letting her haunt his dreams? Her face was certainly more welcome than that of Private Allan West or his old deadfriend Billy Cole.
* * *
Five weeks, Cadence thought from her perch high above the ship’s deck.
For the last five weeks she’d actually lived the dream she’d fantasized about for years. It was agony. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t enjoy a sailor’s life—she loved it—especially her main tasks of keeping the captain’s and the mate’s cabins tidy, delivering meals to the watch at the helm and taking over the watch from the crow’s nest so the sailor on duty could eat. Her first trips into the rigging had been nerve-racking, but she’d soon lost her fear and though her hands blistered and tore from the rough lines, she enjoyed sitting high above the decks. A cabin boy did everyone’s bidding, but as busy as she was, her tasks remained menial and left too much time for her thoughts to wander where they should not go.
Over and again she found herself fantasizing about Curtis, every morning she made his bed and smelled his spicy scent, and no matter how hard she tried to pull her thoughts away from him the task proved impossible within the confines of a ship. Curtis was everywhere, it seemed, and she could not prevent her attentions from following him when he was near.
In this moment she hated Cam. Cam got to spend near every waking minute of every day aware of Curtis Langston’s presence, while Cadence—who was fast falling in love with him—was a far off memory to him—if he recalled her at all. What if Curtis saw her just one last time? Would she see again the protective gleam of her white knight reflected in his eyes? Would she trace the crease folding away from his left eye when he worried, and learn the reason for the sadness ever present behind his eyes?
Of course if he saw her then he would know that she’d been dishonest, lied to him, that she was on the run—and he’d need to know why. It would open the door to a whole other world of problems she wanted nothing more than to avoid. Curtis Langston may be a good man with what she assumed was a good sense of humor, but she suspected he also had a deep sense of honor and was not to be trifled with.
Binding cloth straps more securely about her palms she swung a slender limb over the side of the crow’s nest and into the rigging, making her way down. The sea was beginning to toss the ship about like a cork on a pond. If she’d stayed in her high perch much longer, she would likely be thrown to the hard deck below, or worse. The going was treacherous and she was now just a few rungs from the planking. But as her feet hit the solid deck the ship dipped suddenly to port sending her sprawling backward and into the arms of Captain Langston.
She didn’t need to look at his broad shoulders to see how they tapered into his well-muscled chest or how his worn sailor’s garb clung to his athletic frame, she could feel it. Every robust swell of his work hardened body…the warmth of his broad sturdy chest and—
“Take care, lad,” he said, setting her securely on her feet. “In this weather, it would be difficult to retrieve a man overboard.”
She gulped and snatched away from his steadying hands.
“Aye, sir,” she replied, lowering her eyes. Even his most casual touch could bare her nerves clear to the root. Shoving away from him she jammed the tweed cap more firmly upon her head, and turned to stalk away, determined to put as much distance between them as possible.
Had he noticed anything? There had been an instant, no longer than a blink, when their eyes had locked and she was certain she’d seen something flare in his.
* * *
Curtis watched the boy scuttle away, pondering the chord of familiarity sounding deep inside him once again. What was it about the lad? His eyes? Perhaps… their color was unusual, but impossible to get a good look at…discern because he always kept themshadowed by the brim of his cap…
“Cam, wait!” The boy turned, stance stiff. As usual the boy’s cap shadowed his face and eyes. The murky clouds and every darkening sky did not help either.
“Sir?”
Tilting his head to the side, attempting to peer directly into the lad’s eyes, Curtis stepped forward to draping an arm across his shoulders. “Cam,” he said, “You should not have been in the crow’s nest just now. I ordered the sails reefed and the hatches battened over an hour ago. Do you know how to tell when there’s a storm coming at sea?” The cabin boy’s shoulders trembled slightly.
Mute, the lad shook his head.
“Well, listen up, son, this is important. You see the direction of the wind?” He pointed at the flag standing stiff in the breeze. “It’s changed direction and picked up speed, and do you see the color of the sky, darkening as it is in the direction the wind blows from? Those are signs a good sailor knows to watch for and we’ll be in for one hell of a blow before the night is out,” Curtis finished. “You just wait and see.”
Cam gave a hasty nod, quickly shrugging his arm away from her shoulders and scampered away, head down, shoulders hunched.
“Oh, and Cam.” The brisk tone pulled him. “Bring some coffee to my quarters.”
“Aye, sir.” Cam nodded, and ran off, leaving Curtis even more puzzled. He couldn’t fault the boy’s work, but why was he was damn quiet?
* * *
Curtis drank coffee the way other sailors drank rum and ale. Cadence brought coffee to his room no less than 5 times a day and couldn’t help but find the trait intriguing.
With a heavy coffee service carefully balanced on her forearms, Cadence leaned her backside against the door and shoved it open, realizing too late how the pants stretched taut over her feminine curves, momentarily betraying her disguise. She sucked in a nervous breath, waiting for Curtis to fly across the room and confront her for the betrayal. It was sweet relief to find he’d not yet returned to the cabin. Sighing with relief she crossed the room, edging around the wide corner of the scarred oak desk to set down the coffee tray.
And that’s when she saw it.
A photograph taken before the war of Curtis and his three brothers. Curtis was smiling. The picture pierced straight to her heart. The smiling visage was nothing less than captivating. Here was the boy she remembered from childhood. Here was the luster she’d glimpsed upon the steps of the seamstress shop. Here was the devilish smile that sent mischief dancing into the corners of his eyes. It was incredible but the photograph had captured the magical glitter, the twinkle in his pale eyes.
“Ahem.”
Startled she jumped back as Curtis stared at her from the doorway. His expression was guarded and ever stern. While Curtis was not inherently shy, Cadence knew he kept his innermost thoughts well-fortified and she strongly sensed having intruded upon his privacy. Other times when she’d delivered food or coffee to his quarters the framed photograph had not been in evidence. Had he recently been looking at it, thinking of his brothers? She glanced from his pictured face to the hard expression he showed her now, a sliver of sadness pricking her heart. His features had not changed much in the last few years, he was still young and he looked young, but where boyish mischief had once sparkled, now a weighty unspoken sorrow showed beneath the surface.
“Coffee, Captain.”
Cocking a brow Curtis took a step into the cabin and threw a glance at the picture she held. Quickly setting it back in place she skirted the starboard bulkhead, inching toward the door. Ever mindful of his towering presence she watched him cross the room and settle into the worn leather chair behind his equally worn desk which, to her mind, perfectly matched his rugged exterior. The entire cabin did. It was just rough enough around the edges to be comfortable and more than a little intriguing.
Lifting a mug he took a careful sip and wagged a finger toward Cadence. “Where are you from, Cam?”
“The South.” She kept her reply curt and continued inching toward the door.
“You don’t talk much about yourself,” Curtis observed, taking another swig of his coffee. He reached for one of the many navigational charts scattered about the cabin.
“Neither do you, Captain.”
Curtis cocked a contemplative brow as he located the chart he’d been searching for. “Touché, Cam, touché,” he admonished before pegging her with an all seeing stare. “Do you play chess?”
“Er,” her eyes flitted to the old wooden set in the corner, “not very well.”
“You know, it’s all about strategy.” When she dared a quick glance his way, his eyes smoldered with distrust. She quickly dropped his gaze again. “It’s about knowing your opponent, and being two steps ahead of him.”
Cadence sensed a lesson in his words and cringed toward the hatch.
“What do you think about liars, Cam?”
“Liars, sir?” She’d finally reached the door and wanted nothing more than to dart through. Further inquiry would undoubtedly betray the façade threatening to evaporate beneath his smoldering gaze. He was glaring at her, glaring.
“What do you make of a man who won’t look you square in the eye?”
“Not much, Cap’n.” Tipping the oversize cap she began inching through the portal. “I got chores to do.” Which was a lie; her work was done. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
For a long moment he looked just about to say something. His brooding eyes bore so deeply into her face she was fairly certain he could read the lies imprinted on her brain. Totally unnerved, she held her breath until he raised a hand, waving her off. Making a hasty exit she pressed cooling palms to her cheeks, drawing slow steady breaths, though little seemed adequate to slow the hammering of her heat. She’d almost made it to the tiny quarters assigned to her, when Hodge, a short, stocky sailor approached. “Cam!” He clapped her shoulder with enough force to make her wince. “We need another man for cards tonight. What do ye say to a few games of poker?”
She hesitated, pondering the idea. She’d taken care to avoid spending much downtime with the crew to prevent discovery of her identity, but… Pretending to be a boy was growing increasingly difficult, not to mention frustrating, maybe a few hours with the other hands would offer her some lessons in behaving like a man. After all Curtis maintained a rigid sense of order about the ship. Surely these men wouldn’t get overly rowdy.
With a casual shrug Cadence turned to follow Hodge down the companion-way to the crews’ quarters. “I don’t play cards, but I’ll come to watch.”
“That’s alright, boy, I’ll teach you.” The burly man wrapped an arm about her shoulders half dragging her along with him.
The stagnant air in the hold was laden with the odor of unwashed men. Several of the off-watch crew crowded around an upturned crate, seated on smaller boxes. The piles of coins and two gold pocket watches in front of them suggested they’d been playing for some time. She tried not to dwell on the possible motives for seeking out fresh blood, or money as the case may be. Swallowing nervously she perched on the edge of the crate Hodge scraped across the deck, and a bottle was slammed onto the table in front of her. Rum!
No wonder the big room reeked of more than pipe smoke and filth. All the rum and whiskey was supposed to be locked up in the captain’s quarters, doled out sparingly as a reward when he judged it appropriate, but these men had clearly been dipping into a different supply. “Drink up, boy! At’ll put some hair on yer chest.” Ned Parkins’s thin pock marked face of leered at her from across the table.
A prickling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach as she nervously eyed the drunken sailors seated on all sides of the make-shift table. The smell was so strong she had to covertly breathe through her mouth to keep from gagging. Had these men ever seen a bar of soap? The decision to pass a few hours with the crew had most definitely been a mistake. She could kick herself for letting the resolve lapse tonight.
“I said, drink, boy!”
“Aye,” the rest of the group chanted. “Drink! Drink! Drink!” Cornered she tentatively raised the bottle to her lips and gulped a small mouthful of the amber brew.
“Oughhgg,” she spluttered, as the liquor burned an acidic trail through her insides. The crewman laughed with uproarious, malicious laugher as she clutched her chest, wheezing what she was sure resembled dragon’s breath. Cadence jumped to her feet. She knew when to cut her losses and she’d had enough.
Hodge shoved her forcibly back into her crate and Parkins leered at her with blood shot eyes. “You came in here, boy, so ye’d better be ready to lay some money out fer poker.” Cadence was no stranger to mean drunks. She knew when the threat of violence was imminent.
“I told you I don’t play cards.” Swiftly she wriggled from the seat, narrowly avoiding the powerful grasp of the brute she’d thought something of a friend.
Ned Parkins’s drunken black eyes hardened as he dove across the table making a grab for the front of her shirt. “Get back here you little scamp!” The other sailors snickered at her continued attempts to elude them. Just as she had a clear shot for the door a rough arm snared her about the waist and began hauling her back toward the table. Balling her hands into fists Cadence gritted her teeth, hauling her right arm back with all her strength; she swung around, catching the brute square in the nose.
A stream of unintelligible curses spewed from the sailor’s mouth as blood spurted from his crooked nose. Fists at the ready she turned to the dumbfounded men, backing all the while toward the door.
“Just what is going on here?” an authoritative voice barked from the doorway. Relief flooded through Cadence as Curtis’s stalwart form filled the entrance. The men sobered instantly at the sight of their captain standing with legs braced apart and thick arms poised at his sides as though prepared for battle.
Hodges, still holding his bloodied nose, stumbled back a step as the ship pitched to the side.
Cadence dashed behind the hulking figure of the man she’d come to think of as her champion even as he glared at her, and jerked his head in the direction of her quarters. “I’ll have words with you later.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Cam… Nice punch.”
With a quick nod she ran to her cabin, securely barricading the door. Flopping onto her bunk she shook out her sore hand, speculating on what motivated men to drink. At least Curtis drank coffee instead of rum.