The next morning, Madeline found the captain above deck, robust and forbidding as ever. The crew worked in perfect harmony around him as he gazed across the sea with his spyglass.
The unobtrusive moment allowed her the chance to study him in detail. She noted his dark suede boots and trousers molded his calves and thighs like a second skin, while his white shirt moved fluidly in the breeze. He didn’t tie the shirt strings at the nape of his neck, leaving the base of his throat unfettered—and very unlike the disciplined captain. And that small rebellious gesture sent an unnerving shiver of pleasure through her veins.
She next eyed his fashionable black locks, also ruffled by the wind, the contours of his handsome profile, and the overall confidence his energy exerted. It was clear the tars trusted him. And there was nothing in his rigid manner or cold temperament to suggest anything troubling had happened the night before. Of course, she and William both knew something had happened, and she wondered how he would treat her the following morning.
She gathered her courage and slowly crossed the deck. Long before she reached the captain, he sensed her approach and set aside his spy glass, his bright blue eyes turning straight in her direction.
The man’s piercing gaze leveled her for a moment, and she paused before regaining her momentum. His uncanny ability to detect the slightest change from a distance both assured and perturbed her. He could not be surprised or set upon by an enemy. A good trait for a captain, she concluded. But he also couldn’t be approached by a friend. A poor trait for a man, she thought.
“Good morning, Lady Madeline,” he said in a polite, but flat tone. “How did you sleep?”
She hadn’t expected an acknowledgment of their curious encounter the other night, but she also hadn’t expected his outright dismissal of it. He looked at her with the composure of a sober, able-bodied seaman, and for a second, she doubted anything unusual had occurred. Had she dreamed the entire incident?
But her rump still throbbed with tenderness, and she knew she hadn’t dreamed a bit of it. The man was savvy, she admired. He had almost hypnotized her into believing nothing frightful had taken place in the late hours of the night.
But Madeline would not be dissuaded.
“Not too shabby,” she returned. “I’m still gaining my sea legs.”
His eyes impaled her with a mesmerizing force, and if his conduct toward the ship and crew remained much the same, his attitude toward her had noticeably shifted. She wanted to assure him—again—she would not reveal his secret to the tars. She wanted him to trust her with his secret, whatever it was. And he must have guessed her thoughts, for his sharp voice offered:
“There’s ginger in the galley.”
And again he dismissed her.
Madeline wasn’t flustered this time. She had a better understanding of the complicated man. And while his brush-off made it clear he didn’t want her poking into his private life, she still intended to search for answers. Not out of nosiness. But out of concern. The man needed her help. It was the only certainly on their perilous voyage.
~ * ~
William heard laughter. Palms-slapping-knees sort of guffaws. He followed the sound of the irritating amusement to the poop, where he stilled.
There on the steps was Madeline. Her plaited hair had come loose in the wind, the long ginger wisps flickering like candle flames. Her eyes, bright with merriment, glowed in the fading light of dusk. The joy teeming from her was brilliant and bone-crushing. For all her hardships, she had not lost her passion for life, for hope. And an inexplicable, even dangerous, desire pulled him toward her radiance.
His chest tightened. He resisted the intense draw. It would only lead to . . . death. His death. His inevitable, fucking death.
As he dragged in a great swell of air, he cursed himself for being weak, for wistfully wishing for impossible desires. He had a mission to complete: to die with honor. He wasn’t aboard ship to get embroiled with a woman, especially a woman with whom he had no future.
William remained in the shadows, watching his tars around Madeline, splitting their breeches with laughter. Whatever she had told them had captured their mirth with howling hilarity. And he knew then his well-ordered ship would run amok with her onboard.
“Tell us another, lass,” from his first lieutenant.
It annoyed William that his first lieutenant was participating in the discord. It burned his blood to hear him call her the affectionate “lass” instead of Lady Madeline, as was proper.
“All right,” she said. “Here’s a frightening tale that’ll turn your whisker’s white.”
The men hushed in unadulterated silence.
“In seventeen eighty-three, my grandfather was part of an expedition to the Bahamian islands, transporting the very first English colonists. He’d taken the post for one reason: to find the Fountain of Youth. As a boy, he’d heard tales about Ponce de Leon’s discovery of a mysterious island, where the water possessed healing powers. But there were hundreds of islands in the area, and it soon became clear to him it would take a lifetime to search them all. After several, fruitless years at sea, he ordered his ship back to England, but before leaving Caribbean waters, he had a strange encounter.
“One moonlit night, my grandfather was on deck, stargazing. He heard a soft voice singing a hymn. It sounded like a female voice, but there were no women aboard his ship. He searched the horizon, expecting to see the bright white sails of another vessel. The horizon was empty. He called for his spyglass and more closely examined the waters. He soon saw a shocking sight—a woman floating in the water.”
“Crikey!” cried the men.
“He shouted ‘man overboard’ and heroically jumped ship, swimming toward the drowning woman. She must have fallen from another ship, he thought. As he stroked toward her, he prayed he’d reach her in time. Her voice sounded very weak. His crew, meanwhile, bustled into action, bringing light and readying a small craft to scoop up their captain and the castaway.
“As my grandfather reached the woman, he prepared to grab her, but just then, she turned and swatted him—with her tail!”
The men uttered a collective gasp—and a few curses, as well.
“She hit him so hard, he almost blacked out. A second later, she burrowed her claws into his arms and pushed him underwater. She wrapped her body around him like a snake and attempted to drown him. If his shipmates hadn’t rowed out to save him, he would have died. The sailors beat the creature with their oars until she released my grandfather. She screamed in an unearthly voice before disappearing under the waves.”
“Gor, I hope I never meet the likes,” uttered a lone voice.
“I was a girl when my grandfather first told me the story. He even showed me the scars on his arms, where the siren had pierced him. He believed she’d wanted him for her supper. It was his most harrowing escape!”
A great cacophony exploded then, some men claiming to have seen the creature, others crossing themselves in the hopes of never coming across such a beast.
William cleared his throat—loudly.
The sailors stood at attention. After a moment of awkward silence, the first lieutenant shouted “resume your duties.”
As boots trampled the deck in haste, William eyed Madeline—and crooked his finger . . .
When he entered his cabin, Maddie was at his heels.
“Is something the matter?” she queried in a benign voice, shutting the door.
“Aye,” he snapped. “I don’t want you distracting my crew.”
“But—”
“We’re in open waters, and there are many threats. I need my men alert, watching for storms, other ships, even fantastical mermaids who might drag them to the seabed for a meal.”
“Aye, Captain,” she returned sheepishly. “It won’t happen again. I’m just grateful for the tars’ service. I wanted them to know my grandfather, to know the man they’re risking their lives to save.”
“My men serve me, not you. And they’re risking their lives to save your grandfather because I’m paying them to do it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good.” He went over to the sea chart, sensing another damnable headache. “Now get out.”